In The House of Elrond
by Aearwen22
Summary: Very little is known of the life the mother of Aragorn, Gilraen, lived while raising her son in Rivendell. This is her tale. NOW COMPLETE
1. Refuge

Gilraen opened her eyes to a friendly morning sun. She was warm, dry, nestled down in a soft bed and covered with protective blankets. Around her, the room was sparsely yet comfortably furnished, and so very alien in both design and construction. Through an open window, graced on either side with wisps of thin and flowing material that could be pulled to provide privacy without stealing the light, floated ethereal melodies and even more delicate harmonies sung by voices sweeter than any she'd ever heard.

Nowhere did she see the rough, bulky utilitarianism that was the mark of well-made Dúnedain craftsmanship, no earthy, _human_ smells that spoke of hard work and tenacity. There were no gruff voices grumbling in the distance, no sounds of wood being chopped for the hearth or iron being beaten into usable forms.

No sign remained of the storm that had broken over their heads the night before either. The sunlight through the windows was warm, and the sky visible through the leaves of the trees a brilliant blue. It seemed as if all of the ways in which her world had been overturned, disrupted, and darkened had evaporated while she slept, leaving her in an unnerving calm and quiet.

She sat up in bed and marveled at the simple yet delicate sleeping gown she wore; where had it come from and how had she come to wear it? Her long, dark braid over her right shoulder remained intriguingly intact after a night's sleep. Had she been so overwrought and beside herself when she had arrived that she could remember _nothing_ of what had happened the night before? Could she remember _nothing _of who had handled her, dressed her, braided her hair, tucked her into bed? Then her eyes widened and searched the room about her desperately.

Where was Aragorn?!

A crib sat against the far wall of the room – an _empty_ crib – with crisp, spotless and smooth covers that had seen no weight put on them.

Gilraen surged out of bed and toward the door to the chamber, desperate and almost sobbing. She'd already lost Arathorn; all she had left was Aragorn, her son, her little heart. If he had been taken too, or if this strange place had lured him away from her already…

The door to her chamber opened without her having had a chance to lay a finger on the handle. Gilraen backed away in shock, and then stepped forward to jealously claim a smiling and laughing Aragorn from the arms of one of the twin elves who had been her husband's friends and allies.

"Nana! Nana! E'dan take me see baby horsies!" the child squealed in glee, his little hands framing her face the way he did when he was excited and wanting her to know something.

"That was very nice of Elladan, wasn't it?" she replied, pasting a shaky smile on her face. To have almost lost him, after everything else that had happened… But he could never know how she feared for him; and she could not fail to provide motherly direction, even as she prayed for her heart to stop trying to smash its way through her chest. "Did you tell him thank you?"

Aragorn squirmed in her arms to face the elf behind him now, all seriousness. "T'ankoo, E'dan."

"It was my pleasure, little one." Gilraen would have gaped at the sound of laughter in the normally grim elven voice but that she had looked up into grey eyes that were dancing with a humor she'd never seen in them before, as well as a slight hint of chagrin. "You have my apologies. I did not mean to frighten you, Gilraen. We… Elrohir and I, that is… thought that you could use an uninterrupted night's sleep after everything, so we kept your son with us through the night. I thought to bring him to his crib for a short nape before you awoke."

She nodded her forgiveness, cradling her son closely as she looked into the elf's face. She was still very much in awe of the elven warriors who had been her husband's closest comrades in arms. Elladan, for all his poise, bore her gaze with apparent discomfort and shuffled his feet. "But now that you are awake, perhaps you wouldn't mind if I took charge of him again while you take your time preparing yourself for the day." He smiled down at the little boy in her arms. "I'm thinking Cook might have an extra apple or bowl of berries that could interest a growing boy."

Aragorn squealed again and turned to his mother excitedly. "Can I, Nana? P'ease?"

The grey, elven eyes gazed evenly and deeply. "He will be safe with me, Gilraen, I promise. I won't let him out of my sight."

"Well…"

"P'ease, Nana?"

Gilraen couldn't resist the shining look in Aragorn's eyes – a look that she'd wondered would ever return during the long, hard days of fast travel to this strange, new place. "Very well, but you must promise me to do exactly as Elladan tells you."

"I p'omise, Nana." Aragorn gave his mother a sloppy kiss. "I be good."

Gilraen tipped Aragorn back into the elf's waiting arms. "Thank you, Elladan," she murmured softly.

"It is my pleasure. Incidentally, my father has requested an opportunity to speak to you sometime today, but he wanted me to tell you that he would wish you to take the time to relax and get something to eat before then." Elladan swung Aragorn up onto a shoulder. "And when you're ready, I'll show you the way to his study."

Gilraen stifled a shiver. It was bad enough to be around these warriors, but the thought of an interview with the legendary Elrond of Rivendell gave her pause. Still, it would be by his word that she would either be given refuge in this hidden elven stronghold or returned to her people. Her eyes rested on her son. For him, she would make ready to see a figure out of a near-mythic past, to plead for sanctuary for her son, if for nothing else.

"I'll come find you when I'm ready," she told him softly. Elladan bowed, making Aragorn giggle with the movement, and then ducked through the doorway again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two hairpins of mithril – a betrothal gift from her father less than four years earlier – was all it took to hold the still intact braid up and into place on the back of Gilraen's head. Curled around itself and the tail end tucked safely behind the rest, the braid restrained by two pins completed Gilraen's transformation from wide-eyed and frightened young woman to a wide-eyed and wary Dúnadan matron. With a critical eye, she studied her reflection in the polished metal that hung within the small bathing chamber.

Her forehead was high, and her nose a little too narrow and upturned to allow her to be proclaimed a great beauty in the Angle. She pinched her cheeks, wanting to at least try to return a little life into a face that had grown wan and pale with grief and fear for the future in the days since Arathorn had been brought home to her wrapped in his cloak. The cool water in the shallow basin in front of her helped diminish some of the puffiness around her eyes, but the ease with which she could fall to weeping again would soon undo all of her careful preparations – she just knew it.

Still, she had to try. It wouldn't do to face the judge of her doom looking anything less than her best, such as it was. She found her best wanting now, however, especially in comparison with the delicate luxury that surrounded her; as well as her memory of how even elven armor covered in thick gouts of black orc blood still managed to look rich and refined.

She found her meager bundle of clothing carefully unpacked into a carven clothes press against the same wall as stood Aragorn's crib; and from it, she selected the nicest gown she owned: her wedding dress. Ignoring the memories of a life snuffed out far too soon that sought to overwhelm her, she struggled with the laces and finally stuck her head out the door of the suite in humiliation to beg assistance from one of the passing elf women in the hallway. What would it say about her when it became known that she couldn't even successfully dress herself? No matter; at least she was now properly garbed, washed and groomed. All that remained was for her to survive the interview to come and hopefully vouchsafe the safety of her son. What happened to her personally didn't matter in the end.

She had come to understand that message very clearly in the short hours of argument and then preparations for the flight to Imladris. Dirhael spared no diplomacy in letting his daughter know that the one that needed the protection was not her, but her little son; after all, on him hung so many hopes. It hurt to be dismissed as unimportant, but she understood the reasoning nevertheless. It was a part of what she'd accepted when she agreed to marry the heir to the Dúnadan. She played her part willingly after the wedding – carried the heir to the heir successfully and birthed him, and then brought the heir to the Dúnadan up through most of his infancy and toddler-hood – but in light of the threat from the Enemy and now the death of her husband, her efforts simply wouldn't be enough. Aragorn – heir of Isildur and Elendil, now Chieftain of the Dúnedain – needed to go to Imladris immediately, where he could be protected until better able to defend himself. Gilraen had gone along mostly as a nursemaid, a convenient but very expendable nursemaid.

Gilraen swallowed hard and set aside those harsh memories. There was no more putting off what needed to happen. She exited the bathing chamber and walked to the door of her suite. She opened the door and peered first down the corridor to the left and then to the right, wondering which way led to the Lord Elrond's study.

"Lady Gilraen. Good morning."

She turned to face one of the twins; and she assumed, seeing that Aragorn was nowhere in sight, that this must be Elrohir. As his brother had been before him, the elf was dressed in rich robes, his dark blue where the other's had been emerald green. The long and silky ebony hair that so marked the two of them as different in a humble village setting filled with tangled and curled locks the color of mud was carefully and delicately braided away from the youthful face. "Lord Elrohir?" she inquired carefully. The tall elf bowed his head gracefully to acknowledge her correct assumption. "Good morning. I understand your father wishes to see me. Could you help me please?"

"So he informed us last night," the dark-haired warrior nodded again. "But if you're just now leaving your rooms, surely you'll want to break your fast first."

Her stomach tightened. Right now the last thing she wanted to do was eat, for fear that her nervousness would translate into nausea and further humiliation. "If you don't mind, I think I'd rather see Lord Elrond." She looked back and forth again. "Which way do I need to go?"

"I'll be happy to show you," Elrohir announced solemnly, offering his arm. "Did you rest well?"

Gilraen flushed as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Too well, I think. I don't even remember getting into bed."

"I'm not surprised. You collapsed walking through the front door," the elf told her gently. "My father made certain that you suffered from nothing more than physical and emotional exhaustion, and then two of his assistant healers readied you for your rest while you still were unconscious." A warm hand covered hers and pinned it to his arm. "I'm glad to see that you are much recovered this morning, although I'd feel much better if you'd at least break your fast with something light and nourishing before you see my Adar. After all the stress of the journey and the sadness you've endured, you could use something to sustain you."

"I'll be fine," Gilraen reassured him quickly, not wanting to argue on her first day there but not willing to concede to the solicitude offered her either, despite the fact that his thinking about her welfare brought a warmth to her heart it hadn't enjoyed since she'd become an adult and a married woman. It was odd, seeing these stately elves as something other than fierce and grim warriors. For the very first time, she began to appreciate why Arathorn felt such fondness for these two that dated back to his own tenure here in this fantastic retreat, and to regret having ever held herself back and remote from them when they came. Yes, they had ever summoned her husband off to fight the Enemy – and ultimately had called him away to a battle that had meant his death – but she knew that even the least of the Dúnedain that rode and fought with them respected them and enjoyed their company between patrols.

"Very well, as you wish.." Elrohir walked her down the stairs and then out a door and down the length of an open walkway lined with statuary along the edge of a small but elegant garden.

Her hand suddenly grabbed the arm beneath it hard and pulled the both of them to a stop. "Wait! Where's Aragorn?"

The elf next to her chuckled, drawing her eyes to his face and finding his expression one of open delight. "When last I saw them, only a short while ago, your son and my brother were in the kitchen, driving the cooks to distraction playing a game involving cherry pits and spoons as catapults."

The absurdity of the idea that a stately elven warrior would lower himself to play such a silly game with her son made Gilraen giggle, but it was a giggle that bordered on hysteria. "I'm sorry," she stammered, her free hand to her lips as if that gesture would keep the tears from overflowing. "You must think my mind unhinged."

"Nay, Lady. I have seen what grief does, and find your mind quite sound, under extraordinary circumstances." The grey eyes gazed into hers steadily and with great compassion in their depths. "Never forget that Arathorn was my friend too, and Elrohir's. We understand the difficulty you faced in coming here, to a new place so far from family and friends and kindred, and the way in which this move took place almost before you knew what was happening." Elrohir's hand on hers patted it gently. "You're a very brave woman, Gilraen; never doubt this." He gestured in the direction of the door in front of which they had halted. "This is my Adar's study."

Gilraen stared at the door dumbly for a long moment. "I'm not so brave," she shook her head slowly, swallowing hard. "I fear what lies behind that door."

"The unknown is always the source of our greatest fears," Elrohir said, patting her hand again. "However, as I know some of what awaits you, please accept my promise that it won't be half as bad as you think."

She gazed back into his grey eyes for a long moment and found encouragement and comfort freely offered, along with an unexpected echo of the grief that she kept carefully in check. "Thank you," she whispered, slowly slipping her hand from his keeping. "I shouldn't keep your father waiting any longer than necessary."

"Then I bid you a good day until I see you next." Elrohir bowed his head once again with that fluid grace that defined all his movements and then continued down the covered walkway to turn toward the back end of the house. Gilraen watched him disappear around the corner and then turned to face the door. She took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come." The voice that answered her knock was incredibly deep and full-timbred.

Quailing, Gilraen pushed the door open on silent hinges and found herself walking into a large and elegantly appointed room lined on two walls, from floor to very tall ceiling, with fully laden bookcases. A sizeable hearth – surprisingly without any sign of hooks or pots for cooking - had three comfortable-looking cushioned chairs stationed facing it. The fourth wall was open to yet another garden beyond, and in front of that vast openness sat an immense desk.

Gilraen shivered as she watched the Lord of Imladris himself rise and move from behind that desk. Tall, robed in rich brown and tan brocades, and with ebony hair that cascaded to his waist braided delicately away from his youthful face. Elrond Peredhel was easily as ageless as were his sons. "Lady Gilraen, welcome to Imladris," he intoned, a long-fingered and graceful hand reached out and captured hers in a warm grasp. "Please, come sit."

Gilraen finally dared glance up into Lord Elrond's eyes and immediately found herself lost within a grey gaze that held a full measure of the weight of immeasurable time. There could be no mistaking who this raven-haired elf garbed in such fine materials must be. And if she'd ever felt out of her league before with Elladan or Elrohir earlier, she knew she was doomed in her dealings with their father.

"Have you eaten yet today?" Elrond asked, steering her so very gently into one of those comfortable-looking chairs.

Gilraen shook her head with a small motion. "I was too nervous to eat," she admitted, wondering if being that honest would do her case any good at all.

"Allow me to remedy that, then." Elrond moved to where he could gesture through the wide window behind his desk at someone in the garden. "Please have a light repast brought to my study," he asked and then turned with a smile. "It's entirely possible that your lack of appetite beforehand contributed to your collapse last night, something I would rather not see repeated." As he returned to claim the chair next to hers, Gilraen wondered briefly if the elf walked, or glided.

Gilraen studied her hands, which she held clasped in her lap. She had to give Lord Elrond credit, he was being as gracious and kind as she had heard him to be. Still, there was business to discuss. "Lord Elrond…"

"I hope your accommodations are acceptable," he continued on as if she'd not said a word, folding his own hands in his lap to match her. "If you feel you and your son need more living space, however, you need only…"

She gaped. The tiny suite of rooms that had been allowed her was bigger than the home she'd shared with Arathorn! "Oh, no! My rooms are more than sufficient. Lord…"

"Good." Elrond beamed. "I hope you will let us know if there is anything else that you need to make your stay a comfortable one."

"Yes – about my stay…"

A knock brought the Elf Lord out of his chair again to answer the door, leaving Gilraen with mouth slightly agape. When he turned back, he carried a tray with a plate holding slices of bread, slices of cheese, a short carafe of wine and another of water, and an empty goblet. "This should help give your system something to work with." He settled the tray on a small table next to her and took a seat in the next chair. "Help yourself."

"Lord Elrond…"

"Eat, Gilraen," Elrond told her with a gentle smile. "There is plenty of time for the discussions you and I need to have this day. But I would have them with someone fully fortified for the day by having broken their fast properly. You need not rush this."

"But I would rather face it," Gilraen blurted, then pressed her fingers against her lips in embarrassment at the thought of contradicting such a fine lord. "I'm sorry."

The elf settled back in his chair and studied her calmly and carefully for a long moment. "Perhaps, then, if your nerves won't allow you to nourish yourself yet, we should begin. I would see you break your fast sooner rather than later; but if the only way you'll agree to that is to get through some of what needs to be said between us first, then so be it."

She slowly breathed out a sigh of relief. He wasn't taking offense. "Thank you," she whispered.

"To the matter at hand, then. I have received the report from my sons about the circumstances under which it was decided that you and your son come here, and I have a letter from your father detailing the reasons such a move was necessary from the perspective of your own people." The grey eyes rested on her face without sign of emotion or any other inner working. "And I must agree with the conclusions reached. Your son is no longer safe among his own people. The Enemy is deliberately and systematically eliminating all possible heirs to the line of kings. If Aragorn is to survive, he must go into hiding."

Gilraen nodded, looking down into her lap at her folded hands. "I know," she said softly.

She looked up again into Elrond's face when his hand reached across the distance to grasp hers. "I grieve with you on the loss of your husband, my Lady. Arathorn was a good man, proud, capable, and yet kind. It was my honor to know him and help him become the leader he was during his tenure here."

The tears, never very far from the surface lately, spilled onto her cheeks without obstruction. She nodded again, dumbly.

"And I assure you, I have no intention of turning away Arathorn's heir in his hour of need. Your son is safe here, and my house will be glad to protect him until such time as it's safe for him to return to your people."

Gilraen nodded again, her tears coming a little faster. She didn't have to plead for refuge for Aragorn after all – Elrond was offering it freely! "Thank you, my Lord." The knot in her stomach eased slightly.

He patted her hand and then pulled back. "Don't thank me yet; some of the steps that must be taken to vouchsafe his safety will be difficult ones. Much will need to be sacrificed to make certain that Aragorn grows to his full maturity properly without drawing the attention of the Enemy to him."

"Sacrifice?" She stared at him, her heart plummeting. Once more she heard ringing in her mind her father's blunt assertion that it was Aragorn, not Gilraen, who deserved and needed the refuge. Her son was no longer an infant, and she no longer was necessary for his physical sustenance, merely responsible at the moment for his emotional support and security. Would Elrond require that she leave him here and return to the Angle without him?

Could she live with her heart utterly torn away?

"Yes, sacrifice. To protect him properly, he'll have to stay here, in Imladris, until he reaches his maturity. He cannot return to his people before then."

She drew in a ragged breath. "I think my father already realizes this," she said with a sigh.

"No doubt. Dirhael seems to be a canny leader in his own right." Elrond's tone was appreciative, and Gilraen soaked up every little bit of comfort from it that she could. "But part of that separation will mean a necessary break in the lines of contact between Imladris and the Dúnedain. The question of _why_ the Dúnedain come so often to Imladris cannot be asked, and therefore more visits than have been the norm until now must be avoided at all costs, so that there are no reasons for such questions to arise."

"But…" She looked into the perfect face. "My son is the Chieftain. He needs to learn our ways, our culture, our…"

"My sons have spent many generations with your people, Gilraen. As time goes by, they'll be able to teach him much of what it means to be Dúnadan. As will you, I'm certain. When the time comes…"

"_Me_?" She stared. "I will be staying too, then?"

At last she'd managed to surprise an elf. Elrond's eyes widened in shock, and he rose to his feet quickly. "Certainly you don't believe me capable of separating a child barely out of swaddling from his mother, especially just after having his father torn away from his life?"

Gilraen closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself. "I know that it's my son's welfare that is of the most import, not my own. And if you believe it would be better that Aragorn remain here while I return to…"

"No. It's not better at all." Elrond's tone was emphatic, and he paced the floor in front of the hearth almost angrily. "Your son needs you now, to give him a sense of security when all in his world has shifted so completely. You're the closest tie to his people that he'll ever have until the day comes that he's ready to take up his place as the leader of the Dúnedain himself." He shook his head disbelieving. "I would never force a mother to leave her young child behind, or demand such a young child go through his early years without the love and support of his mother."

Another knot at the bottom of her stomach loosened. If nothing else, she would not lose her son as well as her husband. She reached out a shaking hand and took a small slice of cheese from the tray next to her and nibbled, trying hard not to keep crying. What would Lord Elrond think of a woman who did nothing but sob in his presence?

"Gilraen." Gentle fingertips touched her knee, and she looked over at an Elf Lord who had once more seated himself next to her, although only on the very edge of his chair. "I spoke of sacrifice because the same restriction on contact with your people must necessarily fall on you as well. I would that it could be otherwise, but until your son is grown, you too must vanish to the Dúnedain. Any who come to Imladris, for whatever reason, must never know that you're here lest that knowledge find those who would begin to ask the questions we dare not allow arise."

Gilraen wiped at the tear tracks on her face with the back of her hand. "That I can understand and accept. It will be hard; things here…" She looked around her, at the very nature-based designs behind every piece of construction surrounding her that screamed of the otherworldliness of the place she found herself in. "…are so very strange from everything I grew up with." She took another deep breath. "But I knew, in marrying Arathorn, that much of my life would involve doing my duty to my people. Just being allowed to stay with my son…" Again she choked and pressed her fingers to her lips to try to block the tears, and again she managed to control her emotions, but only barely. "What you ask of me is no sacrifice, my Lord. I am grateful."

Elrond twisted to pour a small amount of wine into the delicate goblet and then fill the vessel the rest of the way with water, and he handed her the drink. "No wonder you were a bundle of nerves walking into my study this day. You feared losing your son so soon after losing your husband." He shook his head at the tiny nod she gave him as she accepted the goblet and took a sip. "I'm glad, then, to have a chance to set those matters straight so quickly and easily." He smiled at her again. "I assure you, I am no monster. I would make your way here as simple and smooth as possible."

She gazed at him over the top of her goblet. "I appreciate that, Lord Elrond."

"Elrond, please. Titles have their places, but not in private, like we are now."

"Elrond," she corrected herself and sipped at her wine again.

"And as we are speaking of names and titles; that brings me to another of those sacrifices I was telling you about." He settled himself back more comfortably into his chair again and steepled his fingers before his chest as he watched her. "In order that your son disappear completely, I'm afraid we will have to disallow all mention of his true name and heritage in this house. We will allow rumors to spread that when you arrived here, both you and your son were extremely ill, and I was unable to save his life. In that way, he will die to all but a very few of your people who need to know the truth. And here in Imladris, he will become one of my household – albeit a mortal one – and answer to a new name until he is ready for the responsibilities and burden associated with his true name."

"What?" Gilraen was stunned. "He is to be raised Dúnadan amidst elves and taught of his culture, his people; but not of his heritage and name?"

Elrond put out defensive hands. "Hear me, Gilraen; I do not ask this lightly. Imladris is a waystation for many travelers of all races; and if a small mortal child should manage to slip through into places where he should not go at the wrong time, and be sought by us using a name rumored to be that of a dead child, it will undo all of the other arrangements we might make."

"But a child needs to know of his father, to know who he himself is." She glared at the elf. "You're asking me to lie to my son."

"No," Elrond replied softly, "I'm not asking you to to tell him falsehoods, just not to tell him the entirety of the truth. Your son will never doubt that he is Dúnadan, I would not steal that from either of you. But until he has the personal strength to deal with the challenges and threats that will come his way simply for being Aragorn, that name must not be spoken again once our discussions here today are concluded."

Gilraen subsided back into her chair, the goblet of watered wine forgotten in her hand. Once again, Elrond's argument was unassailable, but that didn't stop the ache. She _was_ losing her son, only in a very subtle way that only a mother would appreciate.

Elrond, too, looked as if he shared her discontent. The ageless face was clouded with deep emotions that Gilraen couldn't begin to understand as he settled back into his own chair to ponder. He rubbed a spot between his eyebrows absently for a long time, obviously deep in thought. Finally he raised his head, a light beginning to shine in his grey eyes again. "It is a tradition among the Eldar that we sometimes give our children other names by which they are called as they grow; in this instance, I think following the tradition of the elves will be the way we can best deal with this. We will find an _epessë_ for your son – one that we can use until the day comes for him to reclaim his name, his lineage and his destiny."

"What about knowing his father?" Gilraen demanded. "Are you telling me I cannot even speak of my husband to my son?"

The grey eyes held an ocean of compassion in their depths. "I'm sorry, Gilraen. I told you that some of the necessary sacrifices would be hard ones."

That stung. Gilraen closed her eyes and took another sip of her wine. To see Arathorn so clearly in the countenance of her son and yet not be allowed to speak of it to him was like a dagger in her mind. What made it worse, however, is that she could sense the rightness in what Elrond was asking of her. It fit with what her own father had told her, that it was her son's survival that mattered above all else. Above _all_ else, even the need to tell her son of his father.

When she opened her eyes again, she could see Elrond watching her reactions very closely. "I will do as you ask," she submitted quietly. "Even though it is as if you ask me to cut out half of my heart, I will do as you ask."

"I would not ask it if the situation were not so grave," he told her with an obvious tone of sorrow.

No, Gilraen had to admit to herself, given what she had seen from the Lord of Imladris so far, he wouldn't. It didn't make the concession any less painful, however. She wiped again at her cheek. "Do you know what you will call my son?" she asked, returning to an only slightly safer topic.

Elrond's brows raised, and he shook his head. "I fear I have come to no decision on that as yet. The principle behind assigning an _epessë_ is to take characteristics of the individual and craft a name around them. I will have to spend time with your son to adequately see…"

The sound of a child's laughter wafted through the openness behind the desk. Elrond's head whipped around sharply when that laughter was answered by soft and low adult-sounding chuckles. "Ai Elbereth!" he whispered to himself as he rose and strode quickly over to the window to gaze out into the garden. His reaction caught Gilraen by surprise – she had recognized the child's voice as Aragorn's and the chuckles as being similar to what she'd heard just that morning from Elladan – and she replaced the goblet on the tray and rose to join Elrond in observing what was going on outside the study that had so unsettled him.

The garden outside the study was truly beautiful, with a tumult of spring flowers in full bloom beneath ancient trees. At the far end of the garden splashed a fountain that poured over into a small pond; and in front of that pond squatted a small child between two much larger minders, one in emerald green and the other in deep blue. Elladan had his hand firmly affixed to the collar of Aragorn's shirt while Elrohir was pointing to something out in the pond that the child was stretching and reaching for. The ebony-haired elves looked at each other and exchanged gentle words and then broke into easy laughter before returning their attention to their charge.

A soft gasp met Gilraen's ear, and she turned to see tears running unimpeded down Elrond's cheek. Slowly he turned his gaze from the garden to the startled young woman at his side. "I thought I'd never…" Once more he moved abruptly, striding from her side and over to his desk to retrieve an obviously used goblet from amid the paperwork, and then over to the tray to fill that vessel with wine from the carafe.

"Lord Elrond?" Gilraen asked quietly, worried. What was wrong? Had Aragorn done something…

"Estel," he pronounced in a shaky voice after taking a very long drink from his wine. "That will be his _epessë_ – Estel; for with him has returned hope to this house."

She blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Elrond motioned for Gilraen to resume her seat, which she did after taking one final glance out the window at her little son so very well tended by the two towering elven warriors. The thought that, perhaps, at least her son could be happy here brought a small smile to her lips. She then returned to in front of the hearth and perched herself on the edge of her seat, concerned at the strange outpouring of emotion from her host that, on observation, didn't seem to be abating as yet. "Is everything all right with you, my Lord?" She didn't dare reach out to him, although she suspected he was as much in need of comfort as she ever had been since her nightmare began.

"I'm sorry," he began, shaking his head slightly. "I just hadn't expected…" Elrond visibly and with some difficulty worked to reclaim his composure, wiping away the tears with an unapologetic hand and then taking another healthy sip of the wine. "My apologies, Lady. I'm not normally so easily provoked to strong emotions this early in the day."

"What was it?" Gilraen just had to know.

"I heard my sons laughing," Elrond stated simply in a voice in which the deep emotions still stirred vigorously. Gilraen blinked, still not understanding how such a simple thing would inspire such a strong response, and he sighed deeply before continuing. "Many, many years ago, my wife…" His voice caught, and she found herself holding her breath. "My wife was captured by orcs and tortured."

Gilraen closed her eyes and felt her heart squeeze painfully. He hadn't said "killed," he'd said "captured and tortured." How much worse must that have been! At least Arathorn's death, although shocking and altogether too soon, had been swift – he hadn't suffered.

Elrond continued on, his voice bleak. "My sons found her and brought her home to me. It was a miracle she'd survived at all; but as it turned out, I could only heal her body. Her _fae_, her spirit, had been too badly broken by what she'd endured before she was rescued. She couldn't remain in Middle-earth, and she took ship. My sons blamed themselves – and me, I suppose – for their Naneth's injuries and need to depart; and they became very angry. For centuries now, they have exorcised their fury on the Enemy's minions, hunting them relentlessly and spending almost all their time in battle."

He gazed in the direction of the garden and the sounds of gentle conversation and yet more laughter. "I've seldom seen them in the time since then; and always, when they came home, were they somber and lifeless. Often, they were badly injured, and rarely would they share the details of what had happened to them as I repaired their bodies only to know they'd leave again as soon as they were healed enough to travel. I've often wondered, as they would ride away yet again from here to continue their personal war of revenge, if I would ever see them again on this side of the Sundering Sea. When I first saw them last night, they were cold and wet and tired and heart-sick at what had happened to their friend and comrade, and concerned when you collapsed almost the moment of their arrival. To see them today, suddenly, healthy and whole in my garden, laughing and taking pleasure in the company of a small child is as if the last five hundred years had been an evil dream." Long fingers wiped away more tears before they could fall this time. "It's like seeing the warm sun of Spring after a very long and fell winter."

Gilraen stared. He _knew_. He'd lost too, and lost dearly. The need to sacrifice in the name of duty was something that Elrond knew all too well. For the first time since she'd been introduced to the tall, elven warriors who had become her husband's battle advisors and comrades-in-arms, she began to appreciate what had driven them to the lengths they had taken. She'd seen several of the younger men of her village end up on a similar path over the few years she'd spent hearing of such things.

"This is why I shall call your son Estel, for he has brought the hope of healing back into my house," Elrond continued in a thoughtful tone. "He is the hope of your people too, so the name fits on a number of levels." The Elf Lord took a long and stabilizing breath before turning a rapidly calming gaze on her. "Does my choice meet with your approval?"

"Yes," she answered quietly, knowing now that the choice of _epessë_ held meaning for the both of them. That he was asking her permission to assign that name before making it official made her feel better, as if she were having some say in what would happen after believing herself completely powerless. His rapidly clearing gaze told her he was quickly reclaiming his calm and serenity, but she gazed at him with open concern. "Will you be all right, my Lord?"

"I think, perhaps…" He rose and extended his hand to her. "…that unless there is something else you feel we need to discuss immediately, I would like to spend some time in my garden with my sons – and with your son, if you don't mind. Would you like to join me?"

"I would be honored," she answered and allowed him to pull her to her feet again and tuck her hand into the bend in his elbow.

Elrohir had been right. This interview, while difficult, hadn't been half as bad as she'd feared. Elrond himself was far less intimidating than she'd expected. She could deal with this kind-hearted soul who gracefully pulled the door to his study open and allowed her to take the lead for the moment. And Imladris, for all its other-worldly nature, was suddenly not such a bad place to be.

Perhaps she, too, could at least be happy here.

_Elvish Vocabulary:_

_adar - (Sindarin) father_

_epessë - (Quenya) nickname_

_faer - (Sindarin) soul, spirit_


	2. Settling In

_Not again!_

"Estel!" Gilraen called out in frustration as she watched her wet and naked son scamper out the door of their suite and vanish around the corner with a cackle of glee. She'd asked, and asked, but could the servant bringing the bathwater be bothered to close the door to the suite on her way out? Of course not. The housekeeping Elves with whom she had daily contact seemed to have a real aversion to latching, or even closing, the doors to private chambers. They would listen to her, and then continue to do as they had always done as if nothing had ever been said. It was hard enough to admit - even to herself - that she still felt very much lost and alone in this strange place, much less explain how desperately she needed that closed door to act as a buffer between the suite that had become her refuge and the rest of Imladris beyond. No matter; the reality was that her little son was now flying down the corridor in nothing but his skin.

Again.

She sat back on her heels and passed a frustrated and wet hand across her brow and sighed heavily. Chasing Aragorn… no, not Aragorn anymore, Estel… down when he was playing a much-loved nighttime game of catch-me-not was beginning to grow very old. It had been one thing to chase him about a small house in their old village, but had become something quite daunting since their relocation to Imladris.

With another sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, grabbed up the towel that she'd set aside for drying her son, and followed the damp footprints out the suite door and down the hallway toward the Elven end of the family wing. Estel was becoming knowledgeable about the ins and outs and avenues of the meandering, twisting halls and corridors to the Last Homely House, and Gilraen didn't begrudge him that knowledge in the least. After all, this was going to be his home - their home - for a good long time; it was good to know one's way. She had to admit that, in struggling to keep him out of the Elves' way as the day wound to a close, she'd learned her way around somewhat as well.

So far, his after-bath dashes had been in the direction of the chambers of Elrond's twin sons, who had, for some reason, remained in Imladris ever since bringing her there two months earlier. She feared, however, that someday Estel would instead mistake the door and barge in on the lord of the house himself at an inconvenient time. Not only did she not want to face an angry Master Elrond - Master, not Lord, Elrond, she'd been told several times - but she could see the incident potentially costing her son his refuge.

Down past where the hallway turned to the right, she heard Elven laughter and a squeal from Estel that told her that her wayward child had been snared by hands more talented than her own. Gilraen squared her shoulders, shook out the towel and followed the squeal and childish laughter.

"I believe you've lost something again," an amused Elven voice greeted her as she peeked cautiously around the doorjamb and into the parlor that belonged to the family of Master Elrond. Elladan - or was it Elrohir? - directed her gaze with a knowing eye to where his twin held the naked child upside-down and firmly tucked under one arm, tickling Estel's ribs mercilessly.

"I beg your pardon, Lord El...Elladan?" Gilraen guessed, her heart already sinking at the thought that she still hadn't figured out how to tell the twin warriors apart by sight.

"Elrohir," the Elf corrected her gently, his voice kind, "and no apologies are needed, Gilraen. Your little one just seems to prefer our robes to towels."

"Oh - oh my!" Gilraen flushed at the signs of dampness on the front of Elrohir's robe, and the flush deepened as she glanced at Elladan with Estel and noted definite areas of wet marring his robes as well. "I'm so sorry!"

"Never you mind." Elladan carried the squirming child back toward his mother. "Robes dry just as easily as do towels, and little boys."

"Still..." She berated herself yet again. "I keep forgetting to make certain the door is latched before beginning his bath. This is my fault."

Elrohir shook his head at her. "There is no fault involved in the mischief of a healthy and well loved child. Credit to be assigned, perhaps, but certainly no blame. Besides, Estel's antics remind me of..." His grey eyes grew distant, and yet fond. "...another little one Estel's size, very long ago. She, too, would run from her bath water."

"Yes, but she ran from us as well, remember," Elladan reminded his brother, turning the child under his arm right-side up and handing him over to his mother. "Your escape plan is foiled again, _nethben_. Time to go back to your _naneth_."

"E'dan tell me story t'nite?" Estel asked brightly, looping his arm about his mother's neck as she wrapped him in the warmth of the thick towel.

"A story?" Elladan's eyes sparkled as he turned to glance at his brother and then at Gilraen. "What kind of story, Estel?"

"Good one," the child nodded eagerly. "About bears."

Elrohir put on a shocked face. "Bears! But bears are big and scary; we would not want you to have a bad dream."

"I not 'cared, E'dan, E'ro'r," Estel complained. "Nana, I big boy now. Not 'cared anymo'."

Gilraen could see the Elves were only teasing and would no doubt end up in her parlor again this night to give her son a bedtime story. This, along with the bath-time dash, was also beginning to become a habit. "I don't know, Estel. You got both Elladan and Elrohir wet."

The little boy looked at his heroes, and Gilraen could see the alarm grow on his face at the darkened blotches on the brocade. "I not mean it..." Estel whimpered. "I sorry, E'dan..."

"It truly is nothing, Gilraen." Elladan shook his head at her and then ruffled Estel's hair. "You are forgiven, _nethben_. So you want a story about a bear, eh? I think I can do that. But first, you must let your Nana get you ready for bed. No more I-run-you-chase-me tonight, all right?"

Estel's face immediately brightened. "I be good," he promised. "No more run f'um Nana."

"Then I shall be along shortly." He lifted his eyes to Gilraen's face. "If that is your mother's wish."

Gilraen blushed, grateful for the deference which encouraged the child to look to her for the final decision. She was having a hard time understanding Elves in general, and these two in particular. Elladan and his brother, long considered dedicated if not obsessed warriors, had not gone back out to hunt the Enemy since bringing her here. Instead they now seemed quite content to spend long hours together with Estel out in the sun every day, teaching him about the many details of the natural beauty that seemed ever-present in this alien dwelling.

Fascinated by his new role models, Estel soaked up their attention and mannerisms quickly. Gilraen had just noticed, over the past few days, that all of those little things that he had recently done in mimicry of his father had begun to fade in favor of copying more Elvish behaviors. It was to be expected; she had long since decided to resign herself to watching her son grow up in a more Elvish manner than she would have liked.

As time passed, the Elven twins' influence in the boy's life steadily increased, yet he still was constantly being nudged back in her direction for fundamental guidance and correction. They still acknowledged and respected her as holding ultimate authority over Estel's activities and discipline. It was a losing battle, however. Her time as his primary care-giver was rapidly drawing to a close. Even in their village, Estel would soon have begun spending time with other boys, learning to be rough and tumble, and to fight. Boys of the Dúnedain learned to be warriors from very early on.

"I'm afraid my simple stories are no longer the challenge to his imagination that yours and your brother's tales provide," she told him with frank honesty. "I have no warrior's tales to tell him. That would have been Ar..." she bit her lip. Her husband's name, like Estel's birth name, were not to be mentioned in the boy's presence, according to Master Elrond's terms of her tenancy. "That task would have fallen to another," she amended lamely.

The expression in those very-wise grey eyes grew sharp, and Elladan turned to cast a very quick glance at his brother. "Perhaps that is something we should discuss later, when little ones are walking the paths of dreams?"

She glanced back and forth between the identical Elves nervously. "If you wish," she demurred. She still felt very much out of place with these graceful and ageless warriors, despite the gentle and deferential way in which they never failed to treat her. The only times she ever saw them was when they would collect or return her son to her, or were convinced to come tell the child stories. At such times, she would retire to a quiet chair with her sewing, to watch and listen and not intrude. The last lengthy discussion she'd had with any of them had been her initial interview with Master Elrond.

"E'dan tell me story?" Estel asked his mother with a concerned frown, still uncertain of her decision.

"In a little while, yes," she answered him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let's get you back and into your sleepwear, my son."

"Yes!" Estel cheered and threw his arms around his mother's neck. "I get story 'bout bears f'um E'dan!"

Gilraen gave an abbreviated bow of the head to the two Elven lords and headed back down the corridor toward her own suite of rooms, and closed the door very firmly behind herself once she'd re-entered her refuge.

oOoOo

After closing the bedroom door until it was open just the smallest crack to allow the tiniest sound of distress to reach her, Gilraen turned back to her guest. Since she'd left to put an already deeply asleep Estel in his crib, Elladan had not moved except to sit back down in the one other comfortable chair in the parlor, his silver-grey silken robe glowing softly in the light of the flames. He sat with his fingers steepled in front of his face thoughtfully, in a gesture that was similar to one she'd seen Master Elrond use.

Since it was unusual to actually have visitors in her suite, she smoothed her hands over her skirts before rejoining him. "May I offer you..." she began, necessarily drawing the attention of those intense, grey eyes to herself and the small stoppered carafe of wine that sat on her sideboard for just such social occasions.

"I'm well, thank you," the Elf replied, his large and amazingly graceful hand gesturing at the other chair. "Please, sit."

Somehow feeling like she'd just been called before her father after talking back to her mother, Gilraen settled herself on the very edge of her chair and trained her eyes on the hands she had so properly folded in her lap. Finally, after mustering her courage to face whatever else would be thrown at her, she raised her gaze, only to find Elladan's gaze to be warm and sympathetic as well as concerned. "Is it so difficult for you here?" he asked quietly, once he had her attention.

Gilraen's eyes opened wide, and her mouth dropped open slightly without her having the slightest idea of how to respond. Madly her mind struggled to come up with a reasonable response. This was the son of her host after all!

Her days in Imladris were quiet ones, spent in the task of mending or sewing new clothing for her son, who seemed determined to outpace her efforts by growing faster than he ever had before. That was probably due to the much better diet he was getting, for the Elves made certain he had frequent snacks of fruit and nuts that he'd never had in abundance at home. And while Estel was out learning of his new home, she was perfectly content to stay in her suite of rooms out of the way, keeping the both of them as self-sufficient as was possible. But gone were the days of back-breaking laundry, hauling water from the stream, sweating in front of a hearth or tending the small family garden at the back of the hut. Gone too was the camaraderie of gossiping with the other young mothers of the village while doing the laundry, of the communal moots where local decisions were made before all concerned. It was lonely, but it wasn't that bad here, though, was it?

"N...no... but..."

"But..." Elladan sighed and nodded as if her single word had confirmed something he'd only suspected. "_Adar_ feared this would happen."

Her hands clenched tighter together, and she looked back down at them nervously. Had she done something wrong?

"Gilraen." The call was gently made, but in a tone that brooked no resistance. She swallowed hard and looked back over at the Elf again. "Do you know what was meant when you were given your suite in this wing?" he asked in that same, gentle tone.

Something had been meant by which rooms she had been assigned? Did Elves do nothing in a direct manner? Stymied, she shook her head.

The reserved Elven face softened as a smile bloomed. "It means that you are accepted here as family. You are part of us, even if all seems strange about you as yet."

"Not I, Estel..." she protested, only to have her words stutter to a halt by an upraised hand.

"Your lineage is no less noble than was Arathorn's, and can be traced back to Elros Tar-Minyatar, just as his could. That makes you no less family than your son," Elladan told her in a gently chiding tone. "You have as much right to refuge here as he does."

Gilraen stared at him. "But _he_ is the Chie..."

"Yes, he is. And you are his mother, and the best access to the teachings of his people that he can have here." Elladan's grey gaze was still quite penetrating. "Just because the tales you tell are not warrior's stories does not make them any less important to Estel's education." Again the smile bloomed, warming the room. "Arathorn used to tell very interesting and amusing stories about his ancestors and family when we were in his company around the campfires. Certainly you have heard many of those tales yourself over the years."

"Well, yes... I suppose so..." _Those_ stories had been told around a warriors' campfire?

"And while I'm certain that either Elrohir or I could present those tales adequately, they are rather your stories to tell, and not ours. Perhaps the time has come for you to share them with all of us." His smile grew wider. "I'm certain _Adar_ would love to hear new adventures."

That made Gilraen's mouth drop open again. "Your... M...Master Elrond? But surely... he's..."

"A Loremaster - which means that all information and tales are of great interest to him," Elladan supplied the word smoothly, and Gilraen could see full well that he knew that wasn't what she'd been thinking. "For that matter, Erestor would probably enjoy hearing tales that he didn't have to tell himself or hasn't transcribed hundreds of times as well." The Elf sat back in his chair and regarded her with an amused expression. "Estel could have his stories; by taking turns at story-telling in the evenings, we all could benefit from the mutual sharing of lore; and you could being to get used to the idea that you do indeed belong here, which is of great concern to my father. He would not have you feel you must remain solely in these few rooms."

"Your father is very kind..." she tried again.

"Good. It's settled then," Elladan announced as he rose. "Tomorrow eve, after Estel's bath, we will all gather in the family parlor, and it will be your turn to tell the tale to direct Estel's dreams in the night." His grey gaze came to rest on the folded material that was a new shirt. "Bring your sewing if you wish. You need not leave merely because he falls asleep, if the conversation interests you."

Gilraen had risen as well, as much in amazement as in the sense of propriety for when a guest was obviously ready to take his leave. "Tomorrow," she repeated, not entirely certain if she were confirming the date and time of her doom. "And I tell the story?"

Elladan laid a very gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm certain you can think of one that will educate your son as well as entertain those who have heard the same thing for centuries between now and then." He then put his hand to his heart and bowed. "May the stars shine upon your dreams this night, Gilraen."

"And on yours," she replied automatically, having long since learned the proper response to that very Elven goodnight wish.

She leaned her back against the door once her guest had taken his leave, her heart beating hard in her chest. She gazed frantically about the room that had become her home in the past few months, as if something within it would give her courage. Tomorrow she would be telling a Dúnedain story to the Master of Imladris, his very reclusive librarian and councilor, his sons - and only the Valar knew who else.

And for the life of her, she couldn't think of a single story worth telling.

oOoOo

Bath-time went far more smoothly when Gilraen didn't try to move Estel into the warm water until after she'd closed and latched the door to the suite. Games of catch-me-not were far easier to win as well, and far less tiring, when the playing field was only three rooms and not an entire mansion. Then, with her sewing in one hand and a clean Estel in the other, she set off down the corridor toward the Elven end of the family wing. Estel was so excited by the very idea of visiting the Elves in their parlor for his story that night that it mattered not that it was his _naneth_ who would be telling the tale.

"E'ro'r!" Estel exclaimed the moment he had stepped through the door and, wrenching his hand from his mother's, sped toward where Elrohir crouched at the hearth, building the fire up so that the room would be warm enough for small _edain_.

"Good evening, _nethben_," Elrohir replied, pivoting on the balls of his feet just in time to prevent being knocked over by the enthusiastic attack.

"Good evening, Gilraen. I am glad my son was able to convince you to join our evening time together for a change." Elrond rose gracefully to his full height and extended a welcoming hand to her as she loitered nervously near the door. "Come in, make yourself comfortable." He gestured to what had to have been the most comfortable chair in the room. "It is our tradition that the evening's storyteller gets the best seat. As I understand it, this night, that means you."

"Thank you for having us, Master Elrond," Gilraen murmured, then swallowed and moved to the seat indicated. Situated near the hearth and facing at what would seem the head of the semicircle of cushioned chairs and short couches, it was indeed quite comfortable. Once settled, she cast a shy gaze about the room, noting the small bits of what had to be family belongings that gave the parlor a more informal feel. On one wall hung a portrait of a beautiful Elven woman with a serene expression and yet a subtle twinkle in her eye.

"My wife, Celebrían," Elrond explained, settling back into the chair nearest hers, and Gilraen cringed at the thought that he'd been watching her so closely.

"She's beautiful, my lord," she said softly.

"Yes, she is," he agreed with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Are we late?" inquired Elladan from the door, leading another dark-haired Elf into the parlor.

"Nay. You are in luck, my son. Gilraen and Estel themselves just arrived," Elrond chuckled at his son. " Erestor, I am pleased to see you join us."

"Erestor would never miss a chance to hear something new and completely different, and neither would I," came a disembodied voice, and then a new Elf who took Gilraen's breath away strolled confidently into the room. Garbed in simple white robes, with hair the color of spun gold cascading past his waist, he was quite simply the most elegant and awe-inspiring creature she had ever seen. When Gilraen mustered her wits enough to actually meet the Elf's eyes, she found them a crystal blue and smiling. Amazingly, the Elf folded a hand against his chest and bowed to her. "_Mae govannen_, Gilraen. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I am Glorfindel."

She was certain she'd heard that name before - something teased at the very back edges of her mind. Deciding to not worry about it for the time being, she bowed her head. "It is an honor, my lord."

"Here now - none of that! Elrond, did you not tell this charming child the rules of the family story hour yet?" Glorfindel moved with sureness through the room to the sideboard to pluck the stopper from the carafe of wine sitting there.

Rules? Gilraen turned stricken eyes on the Master of Imladris. Had she done something wrong already?

"Gently, Glorfindel." Elladan moved smoothly to Gilraen's side and put a comforting hand down on her shoulder. "Give her a chance to get used to us before you start with your teasing." The hand patted her shoulder as he bent to her ear. "Don't mind him."

"What my undiplomatic Master of Arms is trying to say," Elrond added, leaning forward with a smile on his lips and concern in his grey eyes, "is that we do not use titles among family, and especially not during our evening time. I am Elrond, this is Glorfindel, and this is Erestor."

The dark-haired Elf that had entered with Elladan now bowed with his hand over his heart. Gilraen nodded at him, but her attention was diverted when she heard a tiny voice call out shyly, "Nana..."

Estel had caught sight of the golden-haired Elf; his eyes were as wide as Gilraen was certain hers had been at first. Suddenly he was ready to leave the circle of Elrohir's arms for the safety of his mother's. Elrohir let the child go, and Gilraen opened her arms to her son, who peered at the newcomers only after he was safely enfolded.

"Who 'dat, Nana?" the boy whispered.

"That's Glorfindel," Gilraen explained gently, determined not to let her own sense of intimidation transfer to her son. He would grow up among these great beings, it wouldn't do for him to be frightened of them. "Can you greet him properly?"

"'allo," Estel allowed, and then laid his head on his mother's shoulder as Glorfindel came close and crouched down in front of them.

"And _mae govannen_ to you, young Estel. I've heard many good things about you." The crystal blue eyes sparkled when the Elf looked up to meet Gilraen's gaze. "About you both."

Gilraen found herself smiling in spite of herself. "Thank you, my l..." Her eyes widened as he cocked his head aside in an amused warning. "Thank you," she repeated, only to be rewarded by a wide smile.

"So," Elladan began after seating himself on the couch with a goblet of wine, "did you think of a story for the evening?"

"Nana tell story tonight?" Estel gazed up into her face.

"Yes," she answered her son and then turned to face the Elves, who were now arranging themselves attentively in seats before her. "This is a story told by my father and his father before him, of a time when the Dúnedain patrol that grandfather was in was asked to help guide a group of traders across the Misty Mountains. It seemed that orcs were making it difficult for any to pass. My grandfather and five of his best rode out that day to meet the traders in Bree."

"The trip across the plains and then over the mountains was a long one. They had carts with many goods. My grandfather was almost ready to let them go on alone when they were attacked by a company of orcs on the eastern road out of the mountains. My father tells that grandfather said there were too many of them, and he was despairing of surviving the attack when, suddenly, he heard a loud roaring."

"Bears, Nana?" Estel prompted sleepily, having heard the story before.

"In the eastern Hithaeglir? Unlikely," Erestor commented quietly.

"Perhaps," Gilraen answered the comment gently, then continued, "but nevertheless, a group of six huge bears broke out of the woods and headed straight for the orcs. My grandfather and his men began fighting harder, and soon between the two groups, the orcs were all either dead or fled."

"Bears?" Erestor was still unconvinced. He had raised an eyebrow that told Gilraen just how much he disbelieved her.

"Well..." she smiled at him. "They _looked like_ bears - until the orcs were gone. And then all six stood up on their hind legs, seemed to straighten, their fur grew shorter, and suddenly my grandfather realized that these were men - men who could turn themselves into bears!"

"Skin-changers," Elrohir added from where he stood by the sideboard pouring wine from the carafe. "_Adar_, I know you have heard of them..."

"Aye," Elrond nodded. "But the stories are very old, and few have had knowing contact with their kind since those stories were young." He turned bright eyes to Gilraen, leaning forward. "Where did this take place, did you say?"

Gilraen shrugged shyly. "The story my father told only said that this happened on the road on the east side of the pass over the Misty Mountains."

"It is thought that the skin-changers have their home in the woods east of the Hithaeglir and yet west of the Anduin," Erestor added calmly, his disbelief having faded into open interest. "This is the first confirmation of that we've heard in..."

"Pray continue your tale," Elrohir chuckled at the surprised look on Gilraen's face at the discussion her "simple tale" had caused. "No doubt you'll be answering questions late into the evening, at this rate."

"I told you _Adar _and Erestor would be thrilled to hear something new and different," Elladan added, taking the seat next to his twin and handing over the second goblet to him.

"Yes, do continue," Glorfindel added his urging to Elladan's. "What happened then?"

Gilraen glanced down and noted that Estel's eyelids were already beginning to droop. "The six guided my grandfather and the traders into their village a few hours north of the Old Forest Road. There they found women and children, living simply..."

"You mean there is a whole group of these people?" Erestor was leaning forward now, his eyes bright with excitement. "Women and children?"

"That's what my father told me his father told him," Gilraen replied in surprise. "The caravan was allowed to rest among them for the night. My grandfather said that there was a small feast for the visitors held - and that while they seemed to live their lives very much as do the Dúnedain, their music was much different. They used drums made of hollowed tree trunks covered with thick hides, and chanted to the beat of the drums. And when they danced, they danced as both as bears as well as men."

"_Danced_ as bears?" Elrond gaped. "And your grandfather saw this thing himself?"

Gilraen nodded. "He was given a token by the Chieftain of these people, a sign that he had been accepted as trust-worthy. My father wears it still, and in time he has ordered that it go to his grandson." She glanced down meaningfully at the now-sleeping child in her arms. "He believes, as did his father before him, that one day such a token may be needed to call forth the help of these people again. My father has been across the pass several times in his life as guide and protector, but he has been unable to find the village or come across any of these people, though. Were it not for the token, my father says that he would believe it to be nothing more than a bedtime fable."

"That isn't surprising," Elrond shook his head. "The stories that exist of skin-changers, like we said, are very old, coming to us as tales much like this one. I suppose that it is easy to discount as fable when the experience is not a personal one. To have a token, however, makes disbelief just a little more difficult, I'd imagine." He watched as the child in Gilraen's arms stirred and settled into even deeper sleep. "If you would like, I can take him in on my bed; it is large, and he is unlikely to fall to the floor. You could work on your sewing, and we could continue this discussion?"

Gilraen couldn't mistake the invitation in the deep voice. "Very well," she nodded.

Elrond rose and carefully slipped his arms around the boy so that when he lifted, Estel was well supported. Gilraen held her breath as a look of fondness swept over the Elf Lord's face before he turned toward an inner door and carried her son inside. Curious, she rose and followed him. The bed within was indeed quite large - larger even than the bed she had shared with Arathorn - and he placed Estel in the middle of it, far from any edge. He lifted a robe that had been draped over the back of a low chair and tucked it firmly around the boy.

He didn't seem surprised to see her when he finally straightened. "He will be safe here," he whispered with a backwards glance, "while we can continue to enjoy the evening."

"Yes, he will be safe here," Gilraen agreed with a lump in her throat. Safe in Imladris, and very safe with the Master of the hall.

"Come," he caught at her shoulder with one hand while extending the other in a gesture of invitation to return to the light and the conversation. "Can I pour you some wine now?"

"Yes, thank you," Gilraen answered, making her way back to her seat. She bent to retrieve her sewing from where she had stowed it at her feet earlier, surprised at her own willingness now to spend time with these beautiful and graceful beings... no not beings, not men, Elves. She looked around the room and found Glorfindel's blue eyes smiling at her again.

"As I was telling Glorfindel, the last time any of us heard of these skin-changers before this night, it was centuries ago," Erestor explained as Elrond caught at Gilraen's attention to hand her the goblet. "And the ones who told the tale at the time were not entirely to be trusted..."

"You have never trusted anyone from _Taur-e-Ndaedelos_," Glorfindel commented dryly, then turned to Gilraen in explanation. "It is a question of their being Sindar or Teleri, and his being Nol..."

"That has nothing to do with it, you pompous Vanya," Erestor snapped and turned to Gilraen as well. "The problem was that the ones telling the tale were not exactly... in their right minds... at the time."

"He means they were drunk," Elrohir explained quickly. "You will need to learn to read between the lines if you want to understand Erestor's stories half the time."

"Excuse me. My stories are always told in a perfectly concise manner, _nethben_," Erestor drew himself up proudly. "I will have you know that..."

Gilraen found herself covering her mouth as she giggled very softly, suddenly feeling very much at home in this intimate, warm room with... family. She shared blood with the Master of Imladris himself - it was his brother who begat the entire line of Númenórean kings, after all. He was an uncle, unbelievably distant, but an uncle nonetheless.

She felt a gentle touch at her knee, and turned to exchange a silent glance with Master Elrond - to be called merely Elrond, she reminded herself, during these family evenings. His gaze was warm and welcoming. She smiled softly back at him, appreciating the welcome and the feeling of belonging that was slowly filling her, and then returned her listening attention to where Erestor and Glorfindel were continuing their pointed exchange. She sipped at and then set her goblet on a nearby table and unfolded her sewing to find where she'd left of stitching the latest seam. It was going to be a very interesting evening after all.

oOoOo

Gilraen opened the door to her suite and ushered Elrond in, and then led the way to the bedroom. Fast asleep still in the Elf Lord's arms, Estel looked warm and comfortable wrapped in the robe that had covered him in Elrond's bed. Elrond carefully lifted the boy over the protective bars of the crib and deposited him on the mattress, and then proceeded to tuck the warm robe back in around the boy.

"He has blankets," Gilraen whispered, pointing to the neatly folded item waiting at the foot of the crib to be put into use.

"Removing the robe and covering him with the blanket would awaken him," Elrond shook his head, "for the robe is already warm, and the blanket is not. Fear not, I can retrieve the garment in the morning."

Estel rolled onto his side, his hand grasping the robe and pulling it up close beneath his chin.

"Besides, I don't think we could get it away from him at the moment anyway." Even Elrond's whisper could sound amused. He bent and laid a hand on the boy's head for a long moment, and then straightened and turned away. He gestured, and Gilraen led the way from the room, closing the door just enough that the sound of Estel awakening for any reason would reach her easily.

"Thank you, Master Elrond," she said in a soft voice meant not to carry any further than her parlor.

"Just Elrond, please - and thank _you_, Gilraen," Elrond replied easily, and his grey eyes danced. "I wanted to tell you that your tale was most refreshing and illuminating, and I'm certain Erestor is going to be bothering you for more details eventually. I'm just hoping that you were not so put off by the endless bickering of some this evening that you won't lend us your company again in the future."

"Are they always that way - Glorfindel and Erestor?" Gilraen chuckled at the memory of the "discussion" that had followed her story once Estel had been put to bed in Elrond's chamber.

"Unfortunately. Be glad my sons were on their best behavior, or the evening's entertainment would have been much more lively," Elrond chuckled back. "I just hope we haven't disappointed you by being less than dignified and serene, as some of your people seem to think all Elves are."

"Disappointed?" Gilraen gaped. "Oh, no! This was the first time I've felt comfortable since I got here! If there has been one thing I've missed most of all, it is the laughter and the friendly teasing between the others of the village." She dropped her eyes suddenly, mortified at the implied insult her words could be construed, if misunderstood. "I mean... Not that being here is... Oh my..." If there had been a hole in the floor, she was certain she could have crawled through it.

"Dear child," Elrond moved closer as to comfort; and she dared to look back up at him at the compassionate tone in his deep voice, "you have said nothing that I hadn't already surmised. And the fact of the matter is that you have been alone in these rooms far too long. It is no wonder you have been lonely - and I have greatly feared that your spirit would begin to suffer if the situation were allowed to continue."

He moved to the small hearth that was only barely providing heat, and bent to stir the embers and add more fuel. "My sons have told me much about their time with Dúnedain since they have arrived, stories and tales that I have wanted to hear for a very long time now, and one of the things that always impressed them was the level of camaraderie between all parts of your society. After hearing that, I must confess, I asked Elladan to make certain you joined us this evening." He straightened once more and then gestured to her favorite chair. "Please, do you mind? I was hoping to speak to you, if it isn't too late."

"Certainly." She gestured to the chair on the other side of the hearth.

The Elf settled himself into the chair and relaxed, and his lack of tension communicated itself to her. Gilraen leaned back into the chair and rested her head against the comfortable cushion. "What can I do for you?"

Elrond steepled his fingers before his chin. "It is my understanding that when you married Arathorn, there were certain responsibilities that naturally fell to you." Gilraen nodded. It had become her job to keep records for the Dúnedain, a task that her own father had been fulfilling since the death of Arathorn's mother many years earlier.

"Something similar is traditional in Elven holdings as well. When my wife... left for the West, the task would naturally have fallen to..." He seemed to catch himself. "Well, be that as it may, there are no ladies of my house here to handle the task - and so it has become an extra duty that Erestor has seen fit to take upon himself. He has done well, please do not mistake my intent..."

"Are you asking if I would assist Erestor?" Gilraen asked, a little shocked. "Certainly keeping records for the whole of Imladris is beyond my..."

"Yes, I would like very much if you would assist Erestor," Elrond nodded. "And I am certain that you would be more than capable of the task, once you have been taught the Elven way of record-keeping." His grey eyes rested calmly on her face. "I believe this would solve a number of issues, not the least of which being your feeling like you and your son are here on suffrage."

Gilraen blushed, and wished that she could blame her proximity to the once-more warm flames of the hearth. "I..."

Elrond tipped his head and put up a restraining index finger. "Now, don't deny it. I see it in your eyes every time we meet. I have no idea what passed between you and your father before my sons brought you here, but I suspect you were firmly told that your own well-being and future were unimportant."

Was it so obvious? Gilraen felt every last ounce of warmth flee her cheeks.

"I thought so." The Master of Imladris sounded frustrated. "Dírhael is a good leader for your people, but I understand he can be harshest on those he cares about most. And so I find myself having to repair mistaken assumptions that he has planted in your mind." He leaned forward, a long finger stabbing at his knee to punctuate his points. "You are not merely here on suffrage. You are here because you are of my brother's line, and your son his latest heir. You have a right to be here, and you serve a greater purpose than simple childcare." He relaxed back into the chair. "It is my opinion that by shifting duties and responsibilities within my hall to you, you can come to believe this more readily."

"You're very kind..."

Elrond shook his head vigorously. "I'm being practical. Erestor's load of duties is a heavy one, and he carries the responsibilities of the lady of the hall on top of all of them. In the fullness of time, he will become one of Estel's chief tutors. In order that life continue here as it has, therefore, he will have to abdicate some portion of those duties. You, my dear, need purpose. It is an obvious solution to both dilemmas." He gazed at her assessingly. "Are you interested?"

Gilraen gazed at him, trying to imagine a life where all she did was sit in her suite day after day sewing clothing for herself and her son and finding the outlook bleak. "Yes," she answered finally, "I think I am interested."

"Good." Elrond relaxed back into the chair's cushions in a mirror of her posture. "Either Erestor or myself will begin training you on the various areas in which you will eventually hold authority. Will tomorrow be too soon to begin?"

Gilraen shook her head. "No, my lo..." She caught herself before he had a chance to correct her. "I mean, that sounds very reasonable. In the morning?"

"After we break our fast would be an ideal time," he smiled at her. "As a matter of fact, if you would break your fast with us in our private dining room, Erestor and I could begin your orientation even as my sons take charge of Estel."

She stared at him. "Private dining room?"

"Ah." He smiled. "I will send one of my sons to escort you, then, so you can know the way." He rose. "And now I will wish the stars shine brightly on your dreams, my dear. You look tired, and need your rest. Tomorrow will be a full day for you."

Gilraen rose in response. "I look forward to it," she said softly, and surprised herself by realizing that she really was looking forward to the new day. "May the stars shine brightly on your dreams as well, M... Elrond. And thank you."

Elrond bowed to her. "Until morning then." He swept through the room and quietly pulled the door to her suite closed behind himself.

Gilraen blew all of the candles in the room out save one, which she carried with her into the bedchamber. She paused to look down into the crib at her son, so carefully wrapped in an Elf Lord's robe; and she realized that Elrond had just done much the same to her, only with words and the offer of a purpose to her day. As she changed into her sleeping gown and pulled the pins from her hair, she reviewed the evening from beginning to end.

And decided that maybe Imladris wasn't all that bad after all.

_Sindarin Vocabulary:_

Adar - father  
Mae govannen - Well met  
Naneth - mother  
nethben - little one


	3. Ada

"Your totals are correct, as always. But the manner in which you arrived at them..."

"I added the numbers in the way I was taught long ago, Master Erestor," Gilraen explained with a sigh. This was becoming a familiar battle. "Is it not more important that the figures on the report be correct and noted in proper Elven fashion?"

"But can you not see that this is not so much a matter of correctness as it is a matter of process?" the Loremaster asked back with a hint of frustration. Gilraen was beginning to wonder if the otherwise unflappable Elf now regretted agreeing to instruct her in the more complex art of recording necessary information in the housekeeping books and preparing the various reports for Master Elrond. "It would be easier if you..."

"No, It wouldn't," Gilraen stated firmly. "With all due respect, I find it very difficult to remember that numbers are to be written from right to left, while words are written from left to right. I cannot add or subtract in that manner and still hope to remain consistently correct. Besides, if Master Elrond felt the need to double-check my figures, I'm certain he wouldn't be looking for the wax tablets I used for my calculations; he would merely total them up for himself."

"That isn't the point," Erestor drew himself to his full height and looked down at her with an expression of exasperation. "You are here to learn to keep records in the Elven manner. You cannot do that if you keep resorting to your..." He gestured with impatience at the tablet in question.

"How often does Master Elrond need to double-check _your_ figures?" She wasn't going to back down from this; she just wasn't. She also couldn't imagine having to battle Master Elrond over such a trivial point, which only strengthened her resolve.

Erestor looked shocked at the mere suggestion. "Never. He knows he needs not double-check my totals. I fail to see..."

"And if he were to double-check your figures, would he demand to see your work, or merely do it for himself?" she persisted, reasonably certain of his reply.

Ah! She'd been right - and the solemn grey eyes suddenly refused to meet hers. "He would probably simply do the arithmetic for himself."

"Then would it be safe for me to assume that if and when he felt the need to double-check _my_ figures, he would do the same?" She wanted to smile, but didn't. For the first time, it appeared she might have actually won an argument with the Elf.

"More than likely, you would be correct in your assumption," Erestor sighed and shook his head. "But it really isn't as difficult as it seems to you..."

"That may well be," she conceded with no trace of gloating, "but why make more work for the both of us? I already know my arithmetic; what I need to learn is the proper method of recording the totals in the household ledger and properly creating the reports that will end up on Master Elrond's desk."

"She has you there," came a chuckle from behind them both, and Gilraen very deliberately replaced the quill into the inkwell so as not to accidentally mar the household ledger in front of her when she turned. Glorfindel sauntered up and peeked down over her shoulder. "And you have to admit, she has a clear enough hand. Provided she can back up any figure she puts down, I would say that the most logical option open to you is to go on to the next topic."

"Hmph!" Once more Gilraen had to control her temptation to smile or in any manner demonstrate her amusement at the way Master Elrond's Chief Counselor snapped his robes about him abruptly and moved back to the other side of the table. "As it is close to midday, I suppose we can stop here and continue on the morrow."

"Thank you, Master Erestor." Gilraen rose and bowed to her teacher before gathering her tablet and stylus. "Will you be joining us tonight, after the meal?"

"Unfortunately, no. I have some work that I have left pending for some time that needs finishing," he informed her, his tone modulating slightly away from frustration at last. He glanced up at the warrior and continued dismissively, "Besides, it is Glorfindel's turn at story-telling, and I have heard his tales already many times."

"Not the one I was going to tell tonight," the golden warrior beamed at him. "I have been saving this one back for a long time, waiting for a suitable occasion in which to share it. But it's your loss, my friend, if you aren't around to hear it."

"Hmph!" Erestor straightened the books and papers that he had brought to the table into a neat stack, and then moved with his usual, deliberate speed back to his desk. "Good day to you both then."

"My lady," Glorfindel said, extending his arm, "may I escort you to luncheon?"

"Thank you. I'll need to drop these off first..."

"Don't be ridiculous. Erestor, she can leave these things here until after the meal, can she not?"

Erestor gave him an absent wave. "If that is what you wish," he said, already having turned back to whatever had called his attention. He seated himself and casually tossed long, dark hair back out of the way and focused on the document in front of him.

"You see?" Glorfindel gently relieved her of her writing materials and placed them on the small table near the main entrance to the library. "They'll be right here when you're ready to retrieve them; but in the meanwhile, your hands are unencumbered." He claimed her hand to his arm and opened the door to usher her out.

Gilraen blushed slightly. She still had not quite figured out how to take the attentions offered her by this magnificent figure rising straight out of the legends of her childhood. The living Glorfindel was irrepressible and irreverent, sharp of wit and completely under-impressed with his own reputation. He was well aware of his capabilities and his responsibilities to Elrond and Imladris as a whole; when acting within any of his official roles, only Elrond himself commanded more authority or got quicker results. But when he decided to set all of that aside, Gilraen found herself sometimes forgetting that he was an Elf of immeasurable age and repute. His stories tended to hold entertainment value for young and old alike, and he appeared to have made it one of his responsibilities to make her laugh.

"Where's Estel?" she inquired, not seeing her son in the private dining room that she had been informed was hers to use as one considered a part of Master Elrond's family. Then again, she didn't see either of the twins.

"Elladan and Elrohir decided to give him a picnic today, I believe," Glorfindel replied, handing her an empty plate and leading the way to the sideboard where the midday repast was offered. "They may even have him helping them catch enough fish for the family's evening meal."

Gilraen frowned slightly. "It's getting a little late in the year for Estel to be walking around in drenched clothing after a fishing expedition. We Dúnedain don't handle the cold with quite as much ease as do you Elves."

Glorfindel's raised eyebrow received a nod in response, and he deposited a helping of fruit salad on Gilraen's plate before depositing a slightly larger one on his own, even as she claimed two thick slices of bread and put one on each of the plates. "They have learned their lesson, my dear, never fear. At the bottom of the picnic bundle is a set of dry clothing and a towel - just in case Estel manages to get wet again. You should have seen how distressed they were when they realized that allowing Estel to wander about drenched in a twilight's breeze had caused that... what did you call it?"

"Cold," Gilraen supplied the word tiredly. Estel had been miserable - and so had she, when she had come down with the same ailment a mere ten days later.

"Exactly. Elrond laid down the law to them as well - no more chills for the boy until he can better handle the stress to the body." Glorfindel chuckled. "Besides, neither of them enjoyed having to clean themselves from the spray of Estel's little... explosions..."

"Sneezes," she supplied again. She took a careful look at his face, and her lips quirked at the sparkle in his eye. It was as she suspected: he was again finding ways to lighten her mood. He had lived too long not to know both the illness itself and its symptoms to be reaching for vocabulary in such a disingenuous manner; and he knew that _she_ knew this.

His response validated her assessment, for his lips twitched as well. "Ah yes." Glorfindel's hand was at her elbow, guiding her to the table. "Messy things, those. Most distressing." Then he was fetching two goblets of watered wine and seating himself across the table from her. "And Elladan told me the two of them were quite challenged to find ways to keep him entertained while he was prohibited from going outside."

"They weren't the only ones, trust me," she sighed. She had read every last book intended for children that Master Erestor could find in the library - twice, at least - during those times when the twins were unavailable and her son was awake and bored. Even Master Elrond had taken his turn telling the boy stories, and been just as successful - or not, as the case might be - as any of the rest of them. An ailing Estel was a thoroughly unpleasant person to be around for any length of time.

Glorfindel chuckled again. "The point is, Estel is well and safely tended by Elladan and Elrohir. And so the question I have is: what do _you_ intend to do with the rest of the day?"

Gilraen lifted a surprised eyebrow in his direction, her fingers with their small clump of nuts and raspberry suspended between plate and lips. "I still have to mend Estel's formal trousers from getting caught and torn on those rosebushes." She answered carefully; Glorfindel did not ask such questions idly, she'd found. "Why?"

The Balrog-slayer's crystal blue gaze penetrated hers with ease. "You have not left the bounds of the House since you arrived almost six months past, except to wander a bit in the gardens close by." He shook a finger at her when her mouth dropped open to protest. "Do not bother to deny it - I hear Elrond worry about you all too often. I thought today, perhaps, you might be interested in seeing the valley in its autumn splendor while it is still warm enough to make such an excursion pleasant." He sipped at his wine. "So tell me, do you ride for pleasure?"

She swallowed hard in surprise. " I'd never thought to do so. The horses at home either work or are in use by the men, so I have very little experience just riding."

"Ah!" When Glorfindel smiled widely, Gilraen decided, it was like the sun coming out from behind departing storm clouds. "We surely cannot allow that to continue! Riding is one of the ways in which we all can escape from the somber duties that tie us to household ledgers, warden assignment logs, treaties and the like. Allow me to speak to Master Elrond after luncheon, and then assist you in choosing a mount that would be suitable for you."

"I don't know..." she hedged. Why was he doing this? Surely he had other, more important, matters to attend to.

As happened all too often among the Elves, Glorfindel seemed quite aware of what she was thinking. "Gilraen, your mending, like your wax tablet in the library, will wait very patiently for your return," he told her with quiet serenity, "and you have no schedule of repairs pressing for the task to be completed immediately, do you?"

"No, but..."

He leaned across the table, his hand reaching out and capturing hers as it lay by her plate. "Allow me to do this for you, Lady. It would give me much pleasure. You ask for so little from us, while we, in turn, are in the process of dumping one of the most thankless jobs in all of Imladris into your lap. Trust me, I have listened to Erestor's whines about having to keep track of supplies and the help for the better part of five centuries now; I know what it is you face. An afternoon with no cares, in the fresh air, discovering the beauty that surrounds you from a new perspective, would not constitute dereliction of duty - for either of us."

"Dereliction of duty?" a deep voice queried from behind Gilraen, making her jump. A gentle hand landed on her shoulder even as another plate was deposited on the table. "Forgive me for startling you," Elrond soothed, moving into her line of sight. "I forget, sometimes, that you are one of the only people here I could possibly approach without being heard."

Gilraen reached for her wine and smiled over the rim of the goblet. "No harm done, Master Elrond," she assured him.

"Now," he continued after bringing not only a goblet of his own to the table, but the entire carafe of wine as well, "what was this I heard about dereliction of duty?" He seated himself and poured his goblet full.

"I was merely pointing out to Gilraen that she hasn't left the perimeters of the garden walls since she arrived," Glorfindel explained, his blue eyes dancing. "And when she told me that she has little experience of riding for pleasure..."

"Indeed?" Elrond's grey gaze studied her face, making Gilraen blush. "I hope you put forth plans to remedy the situation?" He pulled off a small bite of his bread with honey and poked it into his mouth with grace.

Her eyes opened wide. Master Elrond agreed with Glorfindel about such a thing? "But..."

"I did," Glorfindel nodded. "I told her I was going to speak to you and then help her pick out a suitable mount - and then show her about the valley a little bit, while the weather still allows."

Elrond didn't hesitate, but nodded immediately. "I think that is a good plan. I approve completely." He sipped at his wine and then put the goblet back on the table. "As a matter of fact, I had thought of escaping my own office this afternoon, while the weather was still cooperative. So if you would not mind an extra companion on your ride..."

Glorfindel's smile was wide again. "Of course not! And when Erestor goes to your office, seeking your advice as he always does about mid-afternoon, you will not be there. I will once more get to listen to him accuse me of inspiring truancy. What fun!"

"Ah." Elrond grinned knowingly. "Is that where the comment about dereliction of duty arises?"

"In a way." The Balrog-Slayer let his blue eyes rest on Gilraen's blushing face again. "I told the Lady here that an afternoon spent in the sun, leaving aside pending sewing repairs that are not urgent, does not rise to the level of dereliction of duty."

"He is correct, you know," Elrond bent to her. "There is a time to all things; and living wisely means knowing when to balance recreation with responsibility. He is also correct that you have spent altogether too much time cooped up inside since you arrived. And, as your host, I am remiss in not showing you the sights of my domain. You must allow me to redress this lapse of hospitality."

Gilraen looked back and forth between the two, not understanding them at all. "But..." she tried again. "Your duties..."

"Will wait for us as patiently as your wax tablets wait for you," Glorfindel said gently.

"Wax tablets?" It was Elrond's turn to look confused. "She uses wax tablets?"

"Much to Erestor's chagrin," the golden warrior began chuckling. "But that is Gilraen's tale to tell."

Gilraen blanched and then sighed. At least, before she returned to Master Erestor's tutelage in the morning, she'd know for certain whether Master Elrond would complain if she did her sums on her wax tablets, or if even _he_ wanted her to learn that confusing way of adding that was known as Elven arithmetic.

oOoOo

This is amazing, Gilraen thought as she watched the Lord of Imladris vault lightly over the fence and into the enclosed meadow, not in his usual formal robes, but rather dressed in very informal suede garb that reminded her a good deal of the leathers Arathorn had always worn. Right behind him sprang Glorfindel, who had also abandoned his pristine white robes for rather worn-looking suede of his own. A sharp whistle cut through the air - was that Elrond who could whistle like that? - and in answer came a distant whinny and several nickers. Over a small rise flowed a small herd of horses, answering their master's call.

She leaned on the rough-cut wooden fencing, watching in amazement and admiration as the two Elves were greeted, nudged, bumped, and jostled from ever direction by the attentive horses. She laughed when Elrond finally had to push one inquisitive muzzle away so he could reach into a pocket and bring out the treat he'd secreted for his equine friends - seeing Glorfindel do much the same. The two Elves then walked among the herd conversing for a while, examining several closely, and Gilraen had to admit that these were some of the sleekest, most beautiful horses she'd ever seen. Only the magnificent and spirited stallions on which Elladan and Elrohir had always arrived in her village seemed finer.

Eventually, however, Elrond put a hand on the neck of one of the horses and, with but a word whispered into an attentive ear, walked back across the grass to where Gilraen stood. "I would like you to meet Rochiril," he announced, and Gilraen found herself looking into an intelligent grey face. "She has agreed to carry you and help you learn to ride properly."

"She has?" Gilraen blinked. She'd heard stories about the Elves and their horses - how the Elves could communicate with them and not only be understood, but understand the animal's answers in turn - but until now had given them no credence. Even now, she wasn't entirely convinced.

"This is the Lady Gilraen," Elrond continued in all seriousness. Gilraen saw the ears of the mare twitch, so she knew the beast was listening. "She will need your patience and your help. Can you greet her properly?"

Astonishingly, the mare stepped right up to the fence and whiffled the hair on the top of Gilraen's head. Gilraen put up a hand, only to have it filled with a velvety soft nose that breathed warm air into her palm. "Oh, you are a lovely one!" she whispered, running her hand up to a rounded cheek and then to carefully straighten the forelock over mare's face. Suddenly, the idea of learning to ride sounded very interesting. She turned to see Elrond beaming serenely at her. "I can borrow her?"

"Borrow?" Elrond shook his head. "No. One does not possess other living beings, or trade them back and forth as if they were mere property. But provided a friendship grows between the two of you, she will bear you wherever and whenever you wish to ride."

This was beyond comprehension. "But..."

The Master of Imladris merely shook a finger at her. "You need a suitable mount. Rochiril has consented to be such for you. It is done, now, as it has always been done." His hand patted the grey neck fondly. "Come now - let us find the Lady a saddle that will make her feel more secure, while _she_..." The ancient grey eyes swept Gilraen's figure knowingly, making her blush yet again. "...goes inside and speaks to Maeniel about more appropriate clothing. We shall await you in the courtyard."

Gilraen stood, struck dumb by the unexpected familiarity in the gaze, as well as the relaxed informality in one she'd seen only behave with weight and wisdom, unable to get her mind to work well enough to order her feet to move. Glorfindel laughed lightly. "It's nice to know you haven't entirely lost your touch, old friend. You can still charm a woman completely off her feet," the golden warrior quipped and vaulted over the fence as Elrond aimed a half-hearted swat at him. He took gentle custody of Gilraen's arm. "Lady - the House is this way."

Gilraen found herself pulled forward and yet steadied by her Elven escort. " Master Elrond... He really thinks... Rochiril _agreed_ to this, does he?" she stammered. Horses were property, weren't they?

"Of course he does - because she _did_. I was there," Glorfindel answered firmly. "You need a mount that is gentle, yet capable. Rochiril is ideal for you - and she already likes you."

"She's too valuable..."

"Nonsense." Glorfindel opened the door for her but didn't let loose of her hand. "You are a member of the family - why shouldn't you have access to what the rest of us do by right of blood?" He pulled her to a halt and turned to face her. "Don't tell me you are once more suffering from the illusion that you are not worthy!" Gilraen turned away from that piercing gaze that saw far more than was comfortable. "I thought so. If ever I have opportunity to speak privately to Dírhael, I shall be honored to give him a healthy piece of my mind regarding his treatment of you; and you can bet that Elrond will be second in line to do the same."

"He was just doing as he thought right," she defended her father lamely.

"Hmph!" Glorfindel turned her down a hallway that she hadn't had opportunity to fully explore yet and then knocked at the second door. "Maeniel, this is the Lady Gilraen. Gilraen, this is our head seamstress," he introduced the pretty elleth who answered his summons. "Maeniel, Master Elrond wishes that you find for her something suitable for riding this afternoon."

Gilraen found herself the target of a very quick and assessing look from Maeniel and then the recipient of a wide smile. "She looks to be almost of a size with Arwen - just not as tall. I should have a few pieces she left behind that won't take much work to alter." She waved Gilraen in but put up a hand, preventing Glorfindel from following. "Go on, my lord. I shall send her out again once the alterations are complete. You need not observe her dressing and undressing, do you?"

The look of surprise and then dismay that washed over his fine features made Gilraen step away and into the apartment so as not to break down and giggle like a fool. "Of course... I mean, of course not! I shall await you... here... Lady Gilraen," Glorfindel nodded firmly. "Yes. Much better I stay here..." Then his consternation cleared. "But make some haste; Master Elrond awaits us both."

"Then we will do as we can," Maeniel chuckled and closed the door. "It is _so_ much fun when one can get the better of that Elf!" Turning to Gilraen, she pointed. "Off with the skirt and blouse. You need only trousers and tunic. Tell me - can you sew a hem?"

"Yes..."

"Good." Maeniel headed for a chest and began digging through the folded garments it contained. She pulled out one, then another, and then turned and pointed again. "Underskirt off too - you won't need it. Then put these on..." She handed over a pair of suede trousers. "...and stand on that stool so I can mark where they need to be trimmed."

Unbelievably - with Gilraen hemming trousers while the seamstress let out seams and added gussets to the tunic - Maeniel managed to make the necessary adjustments to the garments she'd selected in record time. She then waved at a newly-garbed Gilraen toward the door after asking if she would consider helping out with some of the sewing for the realm from time to time. With a promise of enough sewing to fill her evening hours, Gilraen opened the seamstress' apartment door to find Glorfindel leaning casually against the wall across the way, his arms folded and his ankles crossed. "Have you been waiting out here all this time?" Gilraen asked, startled.

Blue eyes swept her as he straightened quickly, taking in the way the tunic tended to hug her a little more closely than any other garment she'd ever worn. "It was a wait worth enduring," he stated with startling candor and no small amount of admiration - making her blush warmly. He eyed the little bundle of garments she held with a growing smile. "Maeniel, can she leave her things here until we get back?"

"Of course." Maeniel came up behind Gilraen and promptly relieved her of her discarded clothing. "Enjoy your ride, Lady Gilraen."

"You seem determined that I leave little bits of myself in odd places, my lord," Gilraen commented as her hand was once more commandeered, "my tablets in the library, where they still are, by the way; and now my clothing with the seamstress..."

Glorfindel chuckled softly. "Am I as obvious as all that? I merely am doing my best to make certain that you are out of your apartment and visible to the rest of us as much as possible."

"I haven't been hiding," she complained as he pushed the front door of the House open for her. "I _haven't_!" she repeated at the raised and skeptical eyebrow.

Glorfindel didn't answer, but escorted her across the courtyard to where Elrond waited with the grey mare, now equipped with a saddle and headstall, while two others - spirited and dancing stallions with nothing at all but ropes about their necks - were held at a distance by two patient Elves. "We came as quickly as we could," he explained as the Master of the House gave Gilraen a quick glance and then a satisfied nod.

"Well done." Elrond turned to Gilraen and bent to cup his hands together. "Allow me to help you mount."

Amazed that the Lord of the realm would allow her to step into his very hands, she obeyed and found his grip quite stable. Once firmly seated in the well-padded saddle, Gilraen watched as Elrond on one side and Glorfindel on the other moved to adjust the length of the stirrups. "Remember to keep your heels down, and only rest the balls of your feet on the stirrups," Elrond advised.

The two Elf lords leapt easily onto the backs of the sleek stallions, who seemed surprised to be interrupted in their competition for the attentions of the pretty grey mare. "We'll go slowly and only walk today. You and Rochiril need a little time to get to know each other better before we tackle something more jarring," Glorfindel announced firmly. "Hold your reins this way," he directed and then leaned across and adjusted her grip.

"Ready?"

oOoOo

"It seems we are not the only ones just now returning," Elrond commented lightly as the three riders walked sedately into the courtyard. He pointed, and Gilraen could see two tall Elves striding through the orchard just outside the courtyard fence with a very small child suspended between their hands, swinging back and forth as the Elves walked forward. She could hear the joy in her little son's voice, and the amusement in the lower voices that answered him. She also couldn't help but notice the healthy string of fish hanging from both Elven belts.

"I doubt you'll have much trouble with his bath time this night, Lady," Glorfindel added with a chuckle. "I would wager that Elladan and Elrohir will have worn the boy out completely by now, and he'll barely stay awake long enough to eat some of that fish. And he's dry," he added slyly, referring to their discussion over lunch.

"Thank Elbereth for that small favor!" At least she wouldn't have to worry about another cold setting in.

"Nana!" Estel had caught sight of the riders, and he struggled and successfully broke away from his minders when they released his hands. "Nana! Ada! See what we gots for supper tonight!"

Gilraen felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. _Ada_? Since when did Estel call anyone but his own father "Ada?"

She turned to Elrond in consternation, but saw that he was looking back at her, equally stunned. He had expected this no more than she had! That made her feel just slightly better - it would have rankled to think that the Elves had convinced Estel to accept the Master of Imladris as his father without at least notifying her of it beforehand - but it hurt nonetheless to think that Estel himself had forgotten Arathorn now to the point that he was ready to accept another as 'Ada'.

She was grateful to Glorfindel when the golden warrior descended from Asfaloth and was there to catch up her running son in his arms with a joyous whoop, but her smile faded when the one to whom Estel was reaching out to first was not her - not his mother - but to Elrond.

"Ada! Up!"

The conflict in Elrond's face was obvious, and Gilraen understood his disquiet fully and immediately. Her son was ordering his new life about him, and assigning roles to his Elven caregivers without asking permission or giving notice. He had heard both of the twins refer to Elrond as "Adar" or "Ada" often enough in her presence - she hadn't given the occurrence much thought at the time - and was assuming that he was allowed to do the same. But now, if Elrond nudged Estel toward her instead of taking him up on his horse with him, he would be perceived as quietly refusing the fragile connection. And yet she could see, in the Elven lord's expression, his unwillingness to be responsible for the emotional blow his accepting that connection would make for her.

Even Glorfindel hesitated, and his face turned to her. Valar! They were letting _her_ decide if this was going to be permitted!

Gilraen saw the affection in her son's face slowly starting to fade into confusion, and knew that she had no choice. This day had been assured since the terms of his residency had been agreed upon. It was inevitable: Arathorn would fade in Estel's memory, but he would not lack for a father that he would need more than almost anything else as he grew into the man he would become. Estel needed a role model worth striving for; and Elrond was more than qualified for the job. Estel had chosen well. "Give him to his _adar_," she directed in a voice she could only hope sounded more convinced than she felt. She wouldn't break down and sob - not now, not in front of Estel and the Elves!

Still, her breath caught as she saw the flash of comprehension and compassion that filled Glorfindel's face just before he turned and handed his small burden up into the arms of a still-stunned Elf lord. "Look, Ada!" Estel seemed not to notice, but patted Elrond's cheeks gently to get his full attention and then pointed down at where Elladan and Elrohir were just now coming close. "We caughted lots and lots of fishes for supper!"

Elrond swallowed hard before looking down at Estel and ruffling the boy's hair. "So I see, my son," he managed finally, acknowledging and affirming his new place in the boy's life. "We shall dine well this night."

"Elladan teached me words to say, and then made me he'p clean them too," the chatterbox continued with a thoroughly disgusted look on his face. "Icky!"

"This is well done too," Elrond chuckled weakly and then sobered. "When we take the life of other creatures in order to survive, we should always take full responsibility for what needs to be done. That includes giving thanks for their gift and then caring for it properly. Your brothers have taught you well this day."

Gilraen could see the surprise on the twins' faces, and saw each in turn glance over at her to assess _her_ reaction to the shift in relationships taking place right before their eyes. "We will see his soiled clothing to the laundress, Lady," remarked the one who recovered first - she still couldn't distinguish one from the other. "Learning to clean fish for the first time can be a messy business."

Meaning the clothes were most likely bloodstained. Gilraen swallowed and nodded her thanks. She needed no further reminders of death and separation this day.

"I ride with you?" Estel asked then, twining his fingers in the coarse mane of Elrond's mount.

Again Gilraen found Elrond's grey eyes seeking hers for direction. She gave him a tiny nod and then gave Rochiril a tiny tap with her heel to get her to walk again.

"Very well," she heard the Elf lord agree behind her, "but when we get to the stables, you will have to go on with your brothers to the kitchen and present the cooks with their evening assignment."

Gilraen felt as if she were moving through a fog as she approached the stables and had a helpful Elf hurry forward as she slid from the saddle and onto slightly unstable legs. Only a few moments later, however, a firm hand had cupped her elbow. "We will see to Rochiril for you today," Glorfindel told her gently. "Tomorrow we will show you how to care for her before and after a ride; but today, I think, you could use a rest."

She nodded, working too hard against tears to be able to speak. He turned her and helped her make her way up the steps to the House and then through the corridors until they stood at her door. "Thank you," Gilraen managed in a whisper. "For everything."

"Gilraen, will you be all right?" he asked quietly. She glanced up into a face that hid none of its owner's emotions of understanding, concern and sympathy.

As grateful as she was for the understanding, the last thing she wanted at the moment was sympathy or pity. She knew what she had lost and wished to mourn alone. "I'll be fine," she told him, straightening her shoulders and tossing her head just enough to toss back the tears as well. "Thank you for your concern."

"Lady." The Balrog-slayer pressed his hand over his heart and bowed to her, and she turned to open her door so as not to watch him leave. She wanted to be the one leaving - not the one being left all the time.

Alone at last, Gilraen leaned against her door and finally allowed the tears and sobs to break loose. Of all of her illusions living here among the Elves, forbidden to speak her husband's name or even her son's given name, her fondest one had been that Estel would remember that his father had loved him, but had been taken from him too soon. She'd known it to be wishful thinking only, but she'd hung onto that as, one by one, that which had once belonged to Arathorn had been reclaimed and given over to one Elf or another.

How would she be able to compete with the very air that surrounded them all? She was living in Elven lands, in an Elven household, with an Elven family. Estel would not be as other Dúnedain, no matter how good Elladan and Elrohir were at teaching him the traditions and ways of his people. He would see _this_ - this Elven life - as "home" and "family".

To save him, his people had lost him.

She drew herself together and walked shakily into the bedroom to change from her riding clothes into a gown - realizing only after she was standing in her small clothes that her good underskirt was still in the keeping of the seamstress. She drew out her only other underskirt and a worn blouse and skirt and dressed herself. Drawing a shaking hand over her hair, she disciplined herself to stillness.

She would not mourn that which was lost any longer; the loss had happened long since. For her son's sake, she would look forward. She had a purpose here, almost as important as her place at home. Her son was safe, well loved and secure in a family circle that provided him will all the possible support and guidance he could need. She was gradually discovering she had friends here.

But it still hurt.

oOoOo

Gilraen focused her attention on her sewing - setting in a sleeve for a new shirt for someone, Maeniel hadn't told her who and she hadn't asked when she'd turned over the task while returning her clothing - and let the sound of Glorfindel's voice telling the evening story in the Hall of Fire wash over her. Her lap was empty this evening of all but the sewing, however; Estel had attached himself to the Master of the House almost the moment they had arrived after his bath, and Elrond had cuddled him and teased him gently and now cradled him as he drifted away to sleep.

The Hall of Fire was far more comfortable than she had thought when she first arrived in Imladris - and having a place among the Master's family meant a chair in the family circle near the hearth, close enough to storyteller and music to be able to enjoy the evening's entertainment. This night, Glorfindel told tales of his childhood, of losing his father to one of Morgoth's invasions and of the Elf that had fostered him. With the knowledge and pain that only came from the personal loss of a parent suffered by a son, Gilraen knew that the story had been meant for her.

Erestor had evidently finished whatever task it was that he wanted to accomplish and arrived in time for the storytelling. Afterwards, he and Glorfindel refrained from their regular bickering about trivial points in the story, actually breaking down and telling a little of his own story in response to some of the post-story discussion. To have Erestor recounting such personal experiences captured the attention of many in the Hall, for he was normally quite reticent about offering any information about his own past. He touched very briefly on the loss of his own parents in the sack of Tirion - enough to tell Gilraen that even her tutor knew of the events of the afternoon.

She was not surprised when Elrond once more carried a sleeping Estel back to her suite and tucked him into his crib, nor did his hesitation and playing with the dark curls for a few, brief moments before turning away give her pause. The Master of the House walked all the way back to her apartment door before finally turning.

"Gilraen, I did not intend..."

"I know, Elrond," she replied, putting a hand up to stop his protestation. "You were just as surprised as I was. I bear you no ill will for what happened. Merciful Elbereth, you had just introduced me to my first horse and shown me the magnificence of your valley."

"Still..." He moved back into the room a few steps. "I know what this has cost you personally." His already deep voice grew even more profound. "There is still time to direct his thinking into other lines of thought, however, if you wish."

Gilraen waved him toward one of her comfortable chairs, sinking into the other tiredly. "I cannot say I didn't expect this sooner or later," she sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "When you decreed that my husband's name would never be spoken, that my son would not hear his own name until much later, it was only reasonable that he would begin to fill in the gaps of his family with those he was learning to care for."

"I did much the same as a child," Elrond said softly. "I was very young when my mother left us, even younger when my father departed. The first real parent I remember was Maglor; and yet, I never could convince myself to call him '_adar_.' Just because his father's name must remain unspoken doesn't mean Estel cannot know that his father was Dúnedain," he continued gently, folding his hands in his lap. "I am more than willing to foster your son as my own without laying claim to such an intimate relationship as '_adar_.'"

"But Estel has already heard me call you his _adar_. To change now will only confuse him, and right now, he needs stability, security - a way of ordering his world that he can understand. Ara... my husband would understand this. Besides," she gave him a thin smile, "he soon will be leaving my nest to begin to learn to be a man. A big part of that requires that he have a father figure. You - or one of your sons - would be the logical choice for that; whether he calls you "_Adar_" or not, you would be so in his mind."

The grey eyes smiled sadly at her. "You are very wise, Gilraen."

"All I ask is that you do not forget your promise that he be taught what it means to be Dúnedain."

Elrond nodded. "That I can do. He may call me '_Adar_', but I will make it clear that I am a foster-father only, even though I think of him and treat him as if he were my own. He will never doubt his heritage. Elladan and Elrohir will be of great assistance, when the time is right, to make certain of this - I swear it."

Tears unexpectedly sprang into her eyes. "That would be most satisfactory," she whispered, blinking hard.

A large hand reached out and captured her forearm as it lay on the arm of her chair. "And you and I will confer often about the greater and smaller things involved in raising a son we both can be proud of, just as you and your husband would have done, if things had been different."

"You don't have to do that..."

"Yes, I do. I know the danger of a child attempting to play one parent against the other; and I know from past experience that all will try it, at one time or another. Our remaining united on all things that concern our son is of paramount importance."

"'Our' son," Gilraen whispered. How strange it sounded to hear such a thing from the lips of someone other that Arathorn!

The hand tightened its grip on her arm. "I am most honored that you would consent to share your son with me in this way."

She gaze into ancient, grey eyes and felt much of the sting of rejection fading away. "Thank you," she said at last, actually meaning it.

Elrond rose; and when she rose as well, he reached out to her shoulders to pull her close enough to kiss very softly on the forehead. "May the stars shine brightly on your dreams this night, child. And may Elbereth herself guide us all in the days and years ahead."

"May your dreams be similarly blest," she returned, and the smile that answered her before the door closed behind Elrond's departure warmed her heart.

It still hurt to think that Arathorn would never be '_Ada_' again in her son's mind. But the assurances she'd just received made the pain bearable.

Just.


	4. Healing

Gilraen looked up at the first sound of running feet, her eyes caught and held by the flash of irritation and then indulgence in the grey gaze of Erestor. They shared a table at a well-lit end of the Great Library, he at his task of searching the texts and taking notes to be passed along to Elrond regarding one of any number of issues and she at hers of making alterations in the schedules of the workers that made Imladris run smoothly from day to day before starting weekly reports.

"Nana!" came the only barely whispered call that inevitably accompanied such an interruption.

"Shhhh!" both Gilraen and Erestor cautioned Estel as he trotted up to his mother, arms already raised for a hug. She carefully deposited her pen back into the inkwell before bending down to him. "My son, you _must_ remember not to run in the library. What if you had bumped into Master Menester, carrying scrolls for Master Erestor, and made him drop them?"

Estel dutifully lifted his head and gazed at the stern Elf across the table. "I'm sorry, Master Erestor. I forgot."

"You did," Erestor acknowledged with his customary bluntness. "And, I regret to inform you, one day you _shall_ run into Menester, or myself, or even your naneth - _if_ you do not heed our warnings and remember yourself beforehand."

The child's gaze dropped to where he started picking at the embroidery that graced his mother's blouse. "I'm sorry," he repeated, this time with more feeling.

Gilraen felt for Estel. His nature was an irrepressible one; he rejoiced in every new thing he learned and shared each and every achievement with her first. "So, tell me," she tightened her arms slightly to regain his attention to her face, "what has you charging at full speed into the library today?"

She felt her heart skip as the smile that returned to Estel's face was very much his father's. "Elladan said that I could start to watch at the practice ring tomorrow - and maybe even join in some of the exercises!" He glowed with excitement. "He said I was growing big enough that I could, Nana!"

Gilraen had to work very hard not to flinch. The thought of a sword in the hand of her innocent little son chilled her to her very heart. She'd known this day was coming soon; boys of the Dúnedain often started their practice as young as three or four with sticks gathered from the ground, and Estel was well past his fourth birthday already. Besides, Elladan and Elrohir had both mentioned to her that skills in self defense and woodcraft learned very early on would serve her son in very good stead in later years. The woodcraft she hadn't minded, but the thought of a sword...

"Aren't you proud, Nana?" Estel demanded, patting her cheek gently the way he would do to regain an adult's attention that had wandered.

"Of course I am," Gilraen forced a smile to her lips and hugged her son tightly. "And so should you be. You know your brothers would not let you near the practice ring if they didn't think you ready."

Estel squirmed in her grasp now. "Can I go tell Ada? Please?"

Once more Gilraen's and Erestor's gazes met - this time in agreement. "Master Elrond is in a meeting with several important men," Erestor told the boy. "But I am certain that he will be more than delighted to hear your news at supper tonight."

Estel's elation faltered, but then brightened again. "Can I tell Glorfindel, then?"

That Elf would definitely be more accessible, Gilraen knew. His days of late had been spent working through the herd of yearlings, deciding which of them would be gelded, which would be offered in trade to Lothlorien and Mithlond, and which would remain here to find new Elven companions. "You may go find Glorfindel, but be certain not to interrupt him if he is concentrating on the horses," she told him, giving him a kiss on the tip of the nose.

"Can I ask him to let me ride a little?" The grey eyes sparkled even brighter.

"You may ask," she replied, straightening his collar, "but you must accept his answer if he tells you no."

As if Glorfindel would deny her son a ride! The Elf had only rarely denied her son anything asked of him. If Elrond had become Ada - beloved father and the accepted authority in Imladris - and Elladan and Elrohir doting and attentive brothers, Glorfindel had taken on the role of indulgent uncle. Many had been the times that when Estel had vanished without word to any of his normal guardians, he could be found in the stables, perched high and safe on a stack of baled hay, listening intently as Glorfindel recounted stories while tending Asfaloth.

Estel beamed at her, gave her another quick and tight hug about the neck, and then whirled. "Slowly, Estel," Erestor warned in a soft whisper. "No running."

"I won't," the boy promised and walked as briskly as he could without breaking into a trot again toward the other end of the library.

"He is growing quickly," Erestor commented quietly after the boy was gone.

Gilraen looked over at her former teacher. The solemn Elf wasn't normally conversational, at least, not at this hour of the day. "He's still only a little boy."

"A little boy who carries great promise," Erestor agreed with her. "Neither Elladan nor Elrohir would have made him such an offer if he were not ready to begin that part of his training."

"I know that." She sighed, resting her chin in her hand as she stared down into the household ledger without focusing on it. "And I know I'm being foolish, but..."

"There is nothing foolish about a mother's care for her children," the Elf stated more emphatically than normal, again drawing her gaze to him. "For Elves, the time between when they are born and when they first get brought to the practice ring is much longer. I too feel the rush of time pressing against Estel. Were he an elfling..."

"But he's not," Gilraen finished for him. "It's just that every time I think of him using a sword, I see A... my husband..."

Unexpectedly, Erestor put a hand across the table to grasp hers as it lay next to the open ledger. "Perhaps you should speak with Elladan or Elrohir about this? I dare say they have watched other Dúnedain mothers hand over their sons to become warriors; perhaps they would have a word of wisdom to help you adjust."

Gilraen blinked against an upswell of emotion at the sympathy and understanding. She patted his hand. "Maybe I'll do that - or perhaps speak to Glorfindel about it."

"I am certain he would also have wisdom to offer you," Erestor nodded and withdrew his hand, "and you would be wise to seek advice and comfort from whatever direction it might be found."

She nodded at him and reached out for her quill once more. There would be no advice - or comfort - until the current schedules and reports were finished and ready for Master Elrond's perusal. The sooner she finished here, the sooner she could follow her son out the door.

oOoOo

Erestor held out and then rattled a small silver cylinder at Estel enticingly as Gilraen and her son entered the Hall of Fire. "Estel! Just the person we've been waiting for! We have a new game for you, _nethben_."

"This will be very good for you, especially if you intend to start other things in the morning," Menester added with a smile and a nod. He put out his arms to the boy who, with a quick check to his mother, put out his arms to be picked up.

Gilraen's brow climbed her forehead in surprise. Erestor could generally be found sitting in a corner lounge chair, nursing a goblet of wine and listening to an evening's music with closed eyes and gently swaying foot. Menester, on the other hand, usually occupied a bench beneath a lit wall sconce with his nose buried in one book or another. To have both Erestor and his assistant lay claim to Estel's attention was unusual - until she felt a large hand at her elbow. "Gilraen?" She turned with a start to find herself staring up at the Master of Imladris.

"Elrond?"

"My sons and I would like a word with you." The statement was gentle, but Gilraen could tell that it wasn't a request. A glance in Erestor's direction, catching him exchanging a look with Elrond, told the tale. She should have expected this. Elrond's chief advisor had put a quiet word in his lord's ear which was now bearing fruit. Estel had been effectively handed off into capable guardianship, leaving her unencumbered by the need to watch over him; and now it was _her_ turn to be claimed.

She bowed her head shallowly. "As you wish."

A quintet of comfortable chairs had been arranged in a tight and intimate circle that clearly spoke of a desire for privacy. Elrohir settled a carafe of wine and four goblets on the small table in the center of the arrangement and began pouring libations for those who would be gathering, with Elladan already seated and Glorfindel moving to take his own seat, goblet already in hand. Gilraen found herself led to the chair with the best lighting available, no doubt with the latest mending from Maeniel taken into consideration when placing the seats. "Erestor spoke to you," she said to no one in particular with a sigh.

"He did," Elladan nodded. "We thought that perhaps it would be well if we held this discussion right away, so that any questions or points of dissention could be dealt with before..."

"Before Estel is so enthusiastic about doing something so grown up that there will be no holding him back." Gilraen understood this all too well. She'd seen Elrond and Erestor take others aside and deal with issues in much the same way several times in her tenure in Imladris.

"My sons state that they believe Estel has gained the dexterity and understanding to begin to study basic self-defense," Elrond placed Gilraen's goblet, now comfortably filled, within her easy reach before settling back into his chair with his own goblet cradled against his chest. "Estel, as you well know, is very excited about this and made certain I had heard the news at suppertime."

"He is a very capable student," Elrohir finally found his own seat. "He pays attention to everything we tell him when dealing with woodcraft - already he is able to track small animals. It takes no small amount of encouragement to convince him that neither his Ada nor Nana would like families of field mice or rabbits underfoot in the hall, however." The entire group chuckled, Gilraen included.

"You did much the same in your early years, elfling," Glorfindel pointed out as he shoved gently at Elrohir's shoulder.

"But..." Gilraen drew all eyes as she struggled to put her misgivings into words. "He's barely even..."

Elladan's gaze was compassionate. "I have watched young boys in the Angle grow up into warriors for several generations. Always they start very young - sometimes only three years of age - with their sticks and mock swordfights. Granted, Estel will not have the benefit of having others his age or size to join him in learning, but he is of an age when such things happen even among your own people."

"I know that." She couldn't keep the frustration and worry from her voice. "It's just that every time I think of Estel with a sword in his hand - even a mock one - all I can see is you two that night..." Her voice caught. "And... his head wrapped in his cloak... All that blood..." She swung her gaze to pin Elrond. "I know he needs to learn this, and I know that it needs to start soon. I just..."

"Fear for him," Elrond finished for her. "This is normal. I think the process of growing up is harder on the Dúnedain, who must do so very fast. I remember the fears I had as I watched these two grow to the point when I myself had to put swords in their hands and give them over to Glorfindel to teach, even though I had many more years to enjoy them as innocent children before that day arrived than you have enjoyed with Estel." His grey gaze met hers with a measure of understanding. "However, I too know what it is to fear for one's children, Gilraen."

Yes, he did know - better than most here. For the last few hundred years, he had told her once, his sons had spent more time with _her_ people hunting orc with a vengeance even the Dúnedain marveled and worried about - only coming back to their father when they were too injured to remain in the Wild. "How did you bear it?" she asked, her voice soft.

"As best I could," was his answer. "I had to trust that their training was the best I could arrange for them at the time and that they had learned their lessons well. We have no other choice, Gilraen." He lifted his head and gazed at his sons, who returned the regard with a serenity Gilraen wasn't certain she understood. "I have no other choice even now, as I know the day will come when they leave to face the Enemy again."

His gaze shifted, and she followed it to where Estel was crouching next to Erestor and Menester, concentrating on a tangled pile of thin sticks on the floor. "And we both know that the day will come when Estel will do the same." His large hand landed on her knee. "Wouldn't you rather he faced that day with his skills well-honed and practiced with some of the finest warriors in all of Arda?"

"But Ara... my husband had such training too, did he not? Look at all the good it did _him_!"

"He came to us already half-grown, Gilraen," Elladan answered. "And while I do not disparage the skill of those from whom he had learned in your village, Estel will be far more skilled when he reaches that age with the tutelage he gets here than your husband was."

"I intend for Glorfindel himself to train Estel with a sword from the very start, when the time comes," Elrond stated, and the golden head on her other side nodded as if this were already known and accepted. "I also have someone in mind to help train him in archery, although I have yet to write the request..."

"Are you thinking of..." Elladan gaped at his father.

"But... Both of us are just as good as..." The twins' simultaneous complaints sounded suspiciously like Estel would in a similar situation, only in baritones rather than soprano.

"Enough." A raised hand effectively quashed the argument. "The point is that our son will receive the finest education and training the Elves can offer him, Gilraen," Elrond declared with a note of finality. "But he will need your support and encouragement to enhance the training. If you demonstrate your fears and worries to him over time, the possibility exists that he will perhaps hesitate at the wrong time."

Gilraen grimaced. "You ask another sacrifice of me, Elrond?"

The Master of Imladris had the grace to be apologetic in his nod. "At least when you are around Estel. It is unreasonable to expect you to bury your fears completely, however. When they grow too great to remain hidden from Estel, bring them to one of us, and we can help you - if in no other way than to lend an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on." His grey eyes reflected his sadness. "But worry is a way of life for those who remain behind and wait - whether it be for son or husband. You know that as well as we do."

She reached out and claimed her goblet and took a lengthy sip. "So what do you intend for him to learn first?" she asked finally.

"There are basic stretching exercises that will begin to build the muscles needed to wield a sword," Glorfindel answered after Elrond clearly deferred her question to him. "Also, there are techniques he needs to learn that have to do with falling without getting injured. It will be a while before he even draws close to a wooden practice sword. However, he will also be taught proper behavior while at the practice ring - how to observe others sparring, and how to learn from watching."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Gilraen had to admit. She blushed. "I'm sorry I'm sounding like such a protective..."

Elrond's hand landed on her knee once more. "Estel is lucky to have such a caring mother," he declared with the same conviction as before. "Do not apologize for having the best interests of our son as uppermost on your mind."

"Now, Ada, let us get back to the fact that you're thinking of asking..." Elladan picked up his dispute with his father's decision where it had left off.

"Do you really think Thranduil will let him come _now_?" Elrohir added, leaning forward.

Elrond sighed and settled back into his chair, and Gilraen grinned. An evening in the Hall of Fire wasn't complete without at least _one_ small altercation.

She took another sip of her wine and looked around the circle of faces. The expressions on their faces had been neither disappointed or critical, but rather supportive and understanding. Elrond's gentle smile had helped her to relax, knowing herself fully understood by at least one present and her worries acknowledged even as the inevitability of the situation had been driven home with reason and tact.

She found herself bemused by the way things were resolved in Elven society as compared to her own. At home, her father would have simply bellowed, and she would have been expected to submit to his will. Arathorn would have just gone ahead with what was needed, letting her spend her energies arguing and remaining quietly adamant.

For the first time, she realized she was grateful to be living with Elves - and it bothered her.

oOoOo

"Slow down, Estel, before you choke on your breakfast!" Gilraen cautioned her son after watching him shove in a huge mouthful of scrambled eggs. "You don't want to end up in your Ada's Healing Rooms today, of all days..."

"Excited, are we?" a musical voice inquired in a tone of amusement, and Glorfindel seated himself on the other side of Estel. "Your naneth is right - you don't need to choke before you even get a chance to see the practice ring."

Estel's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard to clear his mouth of the egg. "Sorry." He filled his spoon with a much more reasonable amount, but had another spoonful to his lips before he'd had a chance to swallow again.

Glorfindel grinned over the top of the dark curls. "Definitely excited."

"I know," Gilraen sighed. "I'm surprised he isn't jumping up and down in his chair the way he was while waiting for me to finish getting dressed."

The Elf chuckled and ruffled Estel's hair for him as the child reached for his goblet of fruit juice. "It is a common trait, I see. Yon elflings," he pointed with a thumb at the twin sons of Elrond, dark heads bent close together as they shared something that had them both grinning, "did exactly the same thing in their day."

She grinned at hearing the ageless Elves who had graced the Dúnedain settlements for more generations than most could count referred to as "elflings." She would never get used to thinking of any of the Elves as other than incredibly ancient.

"Speaking of which, I was wondering if you would consider accompanying Estel on his first trek to the practice ring?"

Gilraen blinked in surprise. "Whatever for?"

Glorfindel gave a shrug and then counted off the points on his fingers. "So that you know where it is in case you need to find him there; so that you have a better idea of what is being required of him at this point; and perhaps so that you can see that, while what is done there may look dangerous, the skill levels taught there are considerable - and can be viewed as an art with its own form of beauty." He eyed her evenly. "Did you ever stop and watch your Dúnedain warriors spar?"

She shook her head with wide, startled eyes. "Girls weren't allowed anywhere near where the men practiced. It was considered far too dangerous - both to the girls, as well to any men who might be distracted into carelessness by them."

The blond Elf shook his head. "No wonder you are filled with so much anxiety at the thought of Estel going to such a place already, at his tender age. I think it would do you good to know some of what awaits your son - at least then, if you _must_ worry, you have a clear idea in mind of what to worry about rather than wild imaginings based only on the tragic results you have seen prior to coming here." He picked up Estel's napkin and handed it to the boy before he could leap from his chair. "Wipe your mouth and hands carefully, please, Estel. It won't do to go to the practice ring for the first time with sticky fingers and a juice-covered lip." He glanced at Gilraen's half-finished breakfast plate. "Not hungry?"

She wiped at her lips and carefully folded her napkin next to her plate. "Not so much anymore." The thought of going near where swords and arrows would be in clear evidence had her stomach twisting enough to ruin her appetite.

Glorfindel bent to Estel. "Your naneth is going to come with us this morning, so she will see where you will train and see what you will be asked to learn."

Sparkling grey eyes looked up at her face. "Ready, Nana?"

"Take your Nana's hand, Estel," Glorfindel directed firmly before the child could bound away from the table. "Your first lesson in proper practice ring behavior starts now. It is neither safe nor wise to run to or anywhere near the ring. Knocking down a warrior with a sword or his knives in hand could injure you, the warrior, or both. So at the beginning, you will wait for someone - myself or your brothers, or perhaps even your adar or naneth - to bring you to the ring; and you will let that person hold your hand. Once you have shown that you can restrain yourself, you will be allowed to go there unaccompanied - but not before. Do you understand?"

Estel's eyes widened at the thought; and then he nodded and obediently slipped his hand into his mother's. "I won't run," he promised with breathy excitement.

"Lady." A suede-covered arm was extended to Gilraen, and she rested her free hand on it. As normal when Glorfindel escorted her, he matched his long stride to her more limited pace; and now allowed her to slow him even more so that Estel would not have to trot to keep up with them.

As early in the morning as it was, the summer day was already comfortably warm. The leisurely walk to the practice ring took them across a green field of sweet grass that waved gently in the breeze on either side of the well-worn path. Gilraen had once noted the low building they were approaching from the second floor window of the library and discounted its importance due to its distance from the settlement; now she learned it to be the practice armory. The ring was actually a very large clearing past the armory, each section dedicated to several differing uses.

Already the ring was well-populated with warriors engaged in a number of activities. One group of swordsmen seemed to be performing a very set form of exercises, standing in rows and moving in almost perfect symmetry with their shining, lethal-looking weapons as they lunged, swung their swords high overhead or in great sweeps, froze at a particular pose, and then moved again - all as if of one mind. Gilraen found herself captivated in spite of herself by the grace of the dance-like movements. A little closer in, a number of warriors stood in a scattered circle, cheering boisterously while two of their fellows stalked each other with wooden practice swords and clashed spectacularly from time to time. Much farther away, in an area as long as the first two practice areas set end to end, lines of bowmen waited their turns to shoot at the painted targets at the very opposite end of the field.

Gilraen clenched her fingers all that much more securely about Estel's wrist as she felt his first, excited tug against her control. His eyes, as she had expected, were on the two nearby combatants. _Not yet, my son,_ she thought and gave his hand a firm, answering tug to keep him moving in the direction her guide was taking them. _And not for a good, long time yet, if I have anything to say about it!_

"This way." Glorfindel's hand guided the two of them toward the armory and in through the door. He led them up to the counter at the end of the room and picked up Estel to seat him on it. "Master Pilimor, this is Estel Elrondion. Estel, this is Master Pilimor, Sword-master of Imladris."

"Estel," Pilimor put his hand to his heart and bowed very formally. "So you are here to begin your training?"

Estel's eyes were wide, and he nodded slowly.

Gilraen felt herself drawn forward as well. "And this is the Lady Gilraen, naneth to our newest warrior trainee."

"Lady." Pilimor bowed again. "It is an honor to meet you. I knew your husband well."

That caught Gilraen by surprise. Of course Pilimor would have known Arathorn - the Elf had probably been Sword-master here for centuries! "Master Pilimor," she said quietly.

Glorfindel swung Estel's legs around so that he had the lad looking directly at him. "Now, what's going to happen is this: Master Pilimor is going to measure you for some light armor and have you try on a few pieces. He will also teach you a few exercises. I'm going to show your mother around for a little while, so you listen very carefully to what Master Pilimor tells you. I shall want a full accounting when we return. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Estel answered, his face brightening in expectation.

"Be good for Master Pilimor," Gilraen reinforced Glorfindel's instructions even as she felt herself gently pulled away from the counter and towards the door. She gave her son a quick wave with her free hand and then returned worried attention to her self-proclaimed guide. "Are you sure..."

"Pilimor has been the very first instructor for the young warriors of Imladris practically from its founding." Glorfindel's free hand patted hers comfortingly. "Rest assured that Estel is in the best of hands. And besides, leaving the boy alone to absorb his first instructions on his own and then testing him on what he remembers is another important step in his training. It will not only demonstrate his level of interest, but his mental acuity and maturity. In many ways, his answers to my questions later will help guide his training program in the most effective way from now on."

She tried to avoid looking at the one-on-one battle as they strolled leisurely past the circle of cheering warriors, but she couldn't help flinching as she heard grunts and hard wooden knocks that spoke of the sincerity of the contest. Simple proximity made it hard to ignore. Glorfindel's hand on hers tightened slightly, as if he recognized her discomfort, and his step lengthened slightly to move them beyond the knot of warriors more quickly. "They truly are not trying to hurt each other," he stated quietly once they were past.

"I know, but still... As I said last night, all I can see whenever I even think of these things is Arathorn, his head wrapped in his bloody cloak," Gilraen choked hard when she suddenly remembered the ban on even pronouncing her husband's name. She wasn't sorry she'd slipped, though; no matter Elrond's restriction, Arathorn was still very much in her thoughts.

"I know." She glanced at her companion at his tone, and found his eyes sympathetic. "It is hard to forget such things when it is those we love or care for deeply we see in such a condition." When it occurred to her just what he was speaking of, she shuddered. Gondolin - he had to be remembering...

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to..."

"Don't apologize, Gilraen; you've done nothing wrong." He turned his gaze off to the distant rise of cliffs and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "We all are the sum of our memories," he resumed at last. "They give us our mental and emotional foundation, even when they are of unspeakable sadnesses. But consider: without them, could we really appreciate our joys or triumphs as fully?" Again his hand patted hers as it rested on his arm. "To try to forget or avoid the pain of remembering is to do a serious disservice to those we have lost; to give those memories meaning and lend that meaning to future purpose, on the other hand, is to honor them and their sacrifices. Our task, then, is to make the correct choice on a day by day basis."

She stared at him, flabbergasted. With just a few words, he had explained so much of the reason why Elrond, his sons, Erestor, and even he himself behaved and treated her the way they did. What was more, it made _sense_. "I'd never thought of it that way. Back home, we're so focused on just surviving and continuing the fight, that we never..."

A touch of humor began to sparkle behind the seriousness in his gaze. "The Elves have more than enough time on their hands to give such things great consideration, and to see the efficacy of each choice played out dramatically before us. We are past masters of the "Long View."

An answering smile quirked the corners of Gilraen's lips. "So you're telling me that I shouldn't let scenes of combat like that bother me so much?" She jerked her free thumb over her shoulder.

"Not at all. Such scenes trigger memories - such is natural. Understanding the process and letting yourself move through it to a form of acceptance is a first step to assigning meaning, however. Does that make sense?"

It did - more than she wanted to feel comfortable with. "Is that what you did?" she asked very softly.

Glorfindel threw his head back and gave a full-throated laugh. "As if the Lord of Mandos would allow me any other choice!"

Gilraen shook her head at him. How difficult it was to understand what this jovial, gentle warrior next to her had been through - or how and why he found such humor in things. She tried to imagine Arathorn coming back from a short stint in Mandos with such a light and almost irreverent attitude, and found she couldn't see it.

"Come," he dragged at her now, pulling her toward where the rows of warriors still moved as one. "I saw how this caught your eye. Let me explain you what is happening here. The time _will_ come when Estel is part of this group, you know..."

Perfectly happy to put both the one-on-one contest - and the philosophical questions it symbolized - behind her for the time being, she moved with him to where she could watch the deadly dance without obstruction.

There would be plenty of time to turn over the ideas he'd introduced to her later, when she was alone.

oOoOo

Gilraen peeked into the bed chamber once more to check to see that Estel was indeed deeply asleep. The boy had been very excited by his first taste of the training that would occupy a significant share of his life from now on, demonstrating the exercises to anyone who would stand still long enough and sharing each and every bit of wisdom and instruction Pilimor had given him. She'd even caught the indulgent smirk that had passed from Elrond to Glorfindel and back, and had not missed the glow of pride in Elrond's gaze as he bid her - their - son goodnight.

But the evening had grown quiet; the voices singing to the stars had diminished to just a very few, who now sang calming, gentle hymns to lull those who were tired from the day's activities into sleep. Much of the soft bustling that filled The Last Homely House during daylight hours had died away, leaving a comfortable sense of peace that could be sensed at no other time.

Gilraen loved these quiet, late night hours; and now that Estel was older and less likely to awaken from nightmares and need her comfort, she had discovered a preference for a particular bench beneath a flowering jasmine arbor in the atrium that occupied the center space of the family wing. There she could relax and rest her heart and mind - or review the day's events and ponder that which she had encountered that she found confusing; and despite two whole years' residence, she still found a great deal about the Elves that confused her.

She gathered the ends of her thin shawl about her shoulders and slipped through the door and out into the atrium. The moon hung high in the sky above her, lighting her way to her favorite seat. She grimaced when she realized she could have brought her mending with her into the atrium, for Ithil easily was providing enough light to see basic seaming. But no, she decided, she wanted to think about her day and what she had seen. She wanted to think about Arathorn - imagine him at her side - giving her advice about how to raise their son.

He would have enjoyed the day's outing, she was certain. He had been a proud man, proud of his abilities with the sword and the spoken word to direct and protect his people. So much of that, she could now see, had come from this place, from Pilimor and Glorfindel and Erestor and Elrond himself. As she got to know the Elves around her, she began to understand her husband better.

"It is late," a gentle voice broke the peace, and Gilraen looked up to see Glorfindel approaching, his white silk robes reflecting the blue cast of the moonlight. "You should be at rest."

"I wanted to think," she told him simply, and then watched him draw close and seat himself on the other end of the bench she already occupied.

"Are the sights and sounds of the practice ring still drawing forth difficult memories for you?"

"No." She shook her head and pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. She was telling the truth. Once she had had the opportunity to watch that synchronized dance with the sword, the sounds of the contest between two warriors had faded. Glorfindel's commentary, which had followed the moves closely and described each move with such detail and understanding that even Gilraen could appreciate the intent of the exercise, had fascinated her. "Did Ar... did my husband spend much time at the ring while he was here?"

"Many of the Dúnedain we trained here spent their afternoons there," was the quiet answer. "Your husband, like many others in his place, spent their mornings either with Erestor or Elrond, learning history and logic and military strategy. Evenings were for more personal pursuits. Your husband had a fondness for..."

"Singing. I know." Gilraen smiled in remembrance. "He could sing all of the Lay of Beleriand; and he would, if I'd let him."

"He had a good voice, as I remember. Lindir found him quite pleasant to train."

"I miss him." She found herself focusing on her hands folded in her lap. Where had this sudden sadness come from?

"Of course you do."

"Even though I was only with him such a very short time..."

The Elf shifted slightly closer. "You loved him, did you not?"

Gilraen turned to stare at him, startled and almost angry. "Of course I did!"

Glorfindel's smile was gentle. "Then the time you spent together was full and complete; and the exact length of it immaterial. I honestly meant no offense, Gilraen."

She subsided with a sigh. Of course he didn't mean offense; if there was one thing she'd learned about her Elven hosts, it was that they treated her consistently with more respect and consideration than many at home would have. "I'm sorry," she managed at last. "I know better."

"What's more, I find it not at all surprising that you miss him more this night than you have for a while. You were very close to sharp memories dealing with his death earlier; they would have brought back some of the pain you still feel at his loss."

She nodded, accepting his explanation. Still... "At home, I'd get a fair scolding for coming out at night and pining for him like this, though," she explained lamely. "Life is hard, sleep is precious, and he died over two years ago..."

"You have worked very hard to make a place for yourself here and to become accustomed to living far from everything you knew. In all that time, after we finally lured you out of your apartment, have you sat down and allowed yourself to grieve properly?"

"I've done my share of weeping," she stated flatly, disgusted at herself for having to battle the tears yet again. "You'd think I'd have gotten past it by now."

"Have you said your farewells to him, though?"

She looked up into the ageless face, thoroughly confused. "Farewells?"

Glorfindel nodded. "I have heard the tale from Elladan and Elrohir of his death, of bringing him back to his people, of spiriting you away in nearly the same breath. When you got here, you were ill, and then quite reclusive. Where in all the chaos and then unfamiliar surroundings did you get your chance to bid your husband farewell, Gilraen?"

Gilraen continued to stare at him, unable to stop her tears now. "He was dead!" she exclaimed bitterly, "and far past hearing. Of what use..."

His lips thinned as he nodded. "As I thought." He rose and then turned back, extending his hand to her. "Walk with me, Gilraen."

She glanced back at the doorway into the house. Normally she wouldn't wander far from Estel, even knowing him to be perfectly safe and fast asleep. "I should..."

"We shall not go far, I promise." The hand remained before her.

Slowly she put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "It is but a short walk," he explained as he led her back into the house and then out the front door. With the moon so bright, Gilraen needed his arm beneath her hand only for guidance as he led her to a narrow path in one of the outlying gardens. He moved ahead of her, but caught her hand in his to continue guiding her as they walked the twisted path that seemed to wind up the side of a mountain.

"Here," he said at last, and pulled her up to a small clearing at the edge of a rise.

Gilraen stared. The entire layout of the settlement was visible below in the moonlight. Never before had she appreciated just how fully Imladris had embraced and enhanced the natural beauty into which it was set. The waterfalls that had carved the ravine sparkled with a softer light, and the rooftops below were bathed in the silver-blue glow. As caught as she was by the sight, she still turned with a confused look on her face. "What are we doing here?"

"This is as close as I can bring you to him," Glorfindel said gently, loosing his grip on her hand and stepping back slightly. "Your husband has moved beyond the circles of the world - but a part of him remains with you. He lives in the things you have left unsaid to him that make you grieve so harshly, that draw your mind to the last view you had of him. Take the time now to say all the things that you never had the chance to say - aloud or simply in your heart, it makes no difference. But talk to him, Gilraen. See him in your mind and in your heart and tell him what you feel. And when you are ready, say goodbye to him." He backed off further. "I will wait down the path a ways to give you privacy. Take your time, and call me when you are ready to return to the house."

She watched him vanish into the bushes and then slowly turned back to the breathtaking view, wrapping her arms about herself as the night breeze chilled her slightly. Arathorn would have loved this view. What was she thinking? He had probably known of this spot. And with that thought, it was as if she had summoned him up in her mind; and he stood next to her, looking out over Imladris with her.

_I wish you were here,_ she began hesitantly, wondering if Glorfindel realized how insane urging her to talk to her dead husband sounded to a Dúnadan perspective. Still, the presence beside her - imagined or not - compelled her to continue. _But if you were still here, we would be back home and not here in Imladris. I can see why you loved it here. I can even see how much this place and the people in it shaped who you were. Our son will have that too, even more than you. _

Her breath caught in her throat as sobs that she had for so long held at bay no longer would be denied. _I miss you, every day I wake up hoping that this was all a horrible dream; that the empty space beside me in bed is merely because you are out with your men. Your son doesn't even remember you anymore - he calls Elrond "Ada" now. It isn't fair. _

For a long moment, she just let herself feel - feel everything from the grief at the memory of his bloodied form carried into her house, to the anger at being left alone to face the strangeness and loneliness of life in an alien world. It was strange, but she could have sworn she could feel Arathorn standing next to her silent and concerned, as he always had become when faced with her emotions unleashed.

_Glorfindel said that I need to make my farewells, but I don't know. How do I say goodbye, my love?_

In her mind, Arathorn looked at her with sadness and love. _By knowing that I will be waiting for the day you step from this world into mine, my star,_ she heard in the back of her mind in well-known and well-loved tones.

_But I don't want to say goodbye. I love you!_ she insisted. _Stay with me! Help me through this!_

_I cannot. You have to say goodbye sometime, Gilraen - I am no longer with you, and I cannot return to you. You are alive; don't drag yourself half into my grave by hanging onto that last, horrible memory of me. Live, my love, for our son. He needs you. Let me go, and live. Goodbye, my love._ In her mind, he began to grow faint; fade.

The tears were washing her cheeks unabated now. _I love you,_ she sent to him, wherever he was. _I will always love you. Goodbye, Arathorn._

She shivered as she realized the space beside her was very empty. "Glorfindel?" she cried out, suddenly desperate for someone, anyone, to see with her eyes and touch with her hands, to know that she wasn't dreaming - wasn't mad.

"I am here, Gilraen." And in mere moments, he was. His hand touched her elbow and guided her hand to its customary place on his arm. "Are you ready?"

Suddenly it didn't matter that he was an Elf who had seen three Ages of the world come and go. She needed someone, anyone, to lean on - and Glorfindel was close at hand. "Please," she choked, and then leaned hard when the arm moved from beneath her hand to gather her close.

"There, child," he soothed gently as she sobbed into his shoulder. "There, now."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled between hiccoughs, feeling herself awkwardly careening between gratitude for his strength and humiliation for her emotional display.

"There is nothing to apologize for. You have needed to shed these particular tears for a long time. Now, at last, you can begin to heal."

Gilraen drew herself away and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, wishing she could erase the dark blotch where her tears had marred the perfection of his garment. "I got your robe wet."

"Robes dry," he countered, using his own thumb to brush away straggling tears. "It was far more important, however, that my shoulder be there for you to lean on. And now, I think, you need to return to your room and seek your rest. This has been a very hard day."

He was right. Gilraen could feel the exhaustion that had lain hidden behind the surging emotions. It was a long walk down the mountainside again, and suddenly she wasn't certain she would make it.

It was as if Glorfindel could read her soul. He put his arm about her waist and gently held her hands together in his large one. "Lean on me again," he directed and, holding her very close, began the long walk back to Imladris. "You can always lean on me, Gilraen. What are friends for, after all, if not that?"

oOoOo

"Nana? Are you awake?"

Gilraen groaned and opened her eyes to find the morning sun already shining strongly through the sheer curtains covering her window. She turned her head and then laughed; Estel had dressed himself for the day and done well, but his long dark curls were aimed in odd directions and, as a whole, made his head look like a spitting cat stood on it.

"I got dressed all by myself, so I can go back to the practice ring. Hurry up, Nana! I'm hungry!" He was excited, for he was bouncing on the balls of his feet again.

"Very well, I'll be out shortly," she shooed him from the chamber and climbed out of bed. It was amazing, but she found that she was actually looking forward to the day. A shadow seemed to have lifted that she had never realized had taken up a post in her heart. She pulled on her skirt and blouse for the day, then redid her braid and pinned it up. She threw the chamber door open with a flourish, startling Estel. "See?" she announced with a smile. "I can get ready quickly, just like you. Let me run a comb through your hair, and then we'll be off."

Estel bounced and danced around her all the way down the corridor to the private dining room. "Back to the practice ring," he chanted and clapped his hands, pausing from time to time to do a portion of the exercise he'd been given.

"You look ready to conquer the world, my son," Elrond commented with a chuckle, beckoning. "Come over here and tell me what has you so happy."

As Estel grinned up at his mother and then moved into his Ada's care, Gilraen felt someone looking at her. She looked up and over at the sideboard, where Glorfindel was standing holding the carafe of watered wine, ready to pour himself a morning's libation. He smiled and inclined his head, and Gilraen smiled back shyly.

Yes, the morning was off to a fine start.


	5. Lessons

"Estel, you simply _must_ concentrate!"

Gilraen hesitated in her path and smiled at the very contrite "Sorry, Master Erestor," that issued from the open door of the reading room that now served as learning center for her son. She knew how much he hated the lessons on diplomacy that had joined history and literature as topics of learning of late. It continually amazed her that such training started so young with the Chieftains; she would never have considered ten years old to be mature enough to have to face the kinds of situations Estel was now being asked to handle in theory.

"Sorry will not convince an angry Ranger to listen to you! You can_not_ afford to be anything less than complete focused."

The boy's sigh spoke volumes. "I know. I just…"

Erestor's answering sigh was just as easy to interpret. "We shall start over, from the beginning…"

"The beginning!" Gilraen could easily imagine the horror and frustration on her son's face.

Erestor sounded utterly unmoved. "…And this time, keep your mind on the situation at hand, as well as your presentation of your solution. I am not going to want to listen to reason - so you _must_ command my attention and convince me of a good reason to do so without being offensive or tyrannical. Now…"

Gilraen shook her head and continued on her way. Erestor was a demanding instructor - this she knew all too well from personal experience. The report in her hand now headed for Master Elrond's desk, like the many that had come before it, called to mind all too easily a similar battle of wits and wills several years earlier regarding the nuances of Elven arithmetic and notation standards. And although Elrond's Chief Counselor had eventually been convinced to give way on the need to adhere strictly to the Elven manner of actually doing the arithmetic, he had only become more particular with the format in which her totals were to be presented, both in the household ledger and in the weekly reports. Even now, years later, he _still_ raised his eyebrows derisively when finding her working her totals on wax tablets and made pointed remarks about it from time to time.

"I overheard Erestor bragging about Estel to Adar the other evening." Elrohir too had been listening to the drama in the reading room, and he caught at Gilraen's elbow before she'd gone more than a few steps. He easily matched his pace with hers. "It seems that some of little brother's solutions to Erestor's problems are… shall we say… creative," he whispered with a proud smile on his face.

"He has a good head on his shoulders, when he chooses to use it," Gilraen whispered back. "But he hates the idea that there could be times when saying exactly what is on his mind would not be a wise thing. History, literature - these things do not change or need finessing."

Elrohir's expression was sympathetic. "I don't think anyone Erestor has trained in the art of diplomacy has ever enjoyed the learning process - although I know both my brother and I have been extremely grateful for the sheer torture he put us through when we found ourselves in situations where we actually had to _use_ what he taught us and had it serve us well." The dancing grey eyes slipped briefly back over a shoulder toward the open door again. "Estel will be no different in the end; although I have a feeling he will be almost as good at mediation and diplomacy as Adar is if he already has Erestor singing his praises."

"I'm still not certain that Erestor hasn't started him on these studies before he's really ready to understand everything involved," Gilraen complained, moving forward again.

"Estel needs to put these lessons under his belt as quickly as possible, to make the principles and thought processes involved an integral part of him," Elrohir countered in a persuasive tone. "They, along with his weapons practice, are among the most important things that he will have to learn here. It is to be hoped that if given the chance, he will prevail with diplomacy and reasoning more often than not – learn to manage and direct the actions of others without the need to resort to violence – but have the quality martial and strategy skills at hand when and if that reasonability fails." The Elven smile was a gentle one. "I know that it may seem to you that Estel is too young to understand, but I trust my Adar's and Erestor's experience in these matters. They have seen and trained many Chieftains in their time - they are aware of those areas normally taught by the Dúnedain that they would have approached differently."

"Do you mean to say that the Dúnedain don't…"

"Do not mistake my words, Gilraen; I mean no offense. The Dúnedain have done remarkably well and certainly deserve no criticism." Elrohir shook his head. "But Estel is getting the benefit of an Elven upbringing along with all the Dúnedain upbringing you can provide him. He will benefit immensely from not having to unlearn and relearn things."

Gilraen still felt a slight twinge of criticism toward the training Estel would have received if his father hadn't been taken from him in such an untimely manner, but decided to let it go. Her Elven hosts were doing the best they could by her son; of this she was well aware. "I hear that you and Elladan will be leaving us shortly," she said, steering the conversation into other, hopefully less uncomfortable directions.

"We are indeed. My father asked the King of the Greenwood long ago if he would send someone to train Estel in the bow; evidently King Thranduil has finally consented that this person be allowed to leave his kingdom for a short while to do so." From Elrohir's expression, this was welcome news. "Elladan and I have not seen him for several long-years, so we are being sent as part of the company to escort him back."

"Don't I remember you two arguing that you _both_ were quite proficient enough to teach Estel?" Gilraen's eyes twinkled in memory.

Elrohir's expression grew sheepish. "Our ways rub off on you, Gilraen. We protested our skill; but Adar was adamant. Estel will have the best the Elven world can give him for his teachers, bar none; and this one is, without a doubt, the best at the bow in all of Middle-earth. Not even a _Galadhrim_ can best him in competition."

"Estel will miss you both dreadfully while you're away." So would she, for that matter. Neither of the twins had spent more than a few days away from Imladris since she had arrived, and the thought of so many evenings in a row in the Hall of Fire without either of them there to spark good natured banter with someone else was bleak.

"It will be good for him to begin to learn that departures are not always permanent ones, especially as he has suffered so very few since he came here," the Elf replied thoughtfully. "But I must admit that as much as I will enjoy re-establishing an old friendship from long ago and kinder days, and visiting a realm I have not seen for even longer, I will miss my little brother a great deal as well."

"How long will you be gone?"

"About two months, provided we run into no trouble on the road and that our friend is prepared to leave once we have rested from our journey there."

"Trouble?" Gilraen's heart skipped a beat. That word, among her people, only had one or two possible causes, neither of them welcome news at all.

"The pass over the Misty Mountains has not been secure for many centuries," he replied darkly, "and the Greenwood has darkened as well in recent times. We shall travel as quickly as we dare, and yet slowly enough not to make any more mistakes - either going or coming."

The Misty Mountains! Gilraen's heart clenched at the sound of that. Glorfindel had once told her the whole story of why her people were so well acquainted with the sons of Elrond, and it had all arisen from an attack that had happened in the Misty Mountains. That beautiful woman in the portrait in the family parlor, Elrond's wife, had been taken while traveling through them and tortured by orcs; and in the end had sailed West when her husband could not heal her sufficiently. Her sons had ridden to the rescue and found her, and then been so grief-stricken at her fate that they had lost themselves in blood-lust for revenge in the centuries that followed. Their consuming need to repay the orcs for what had been done had awed and troubled many generations of Dúnedain.

Gilraen put a hand on Elrohir's forearm and pulled him to a shop. "You and your brother will be _very_ careful, won't you? Don't do anything… unnecessary."

She saw him blink in surprise at her, and then his lips turned up slightly to accompany a sudden twinkle in his eye. "We will be very careful, _Naneth_, never fear."

Her jaw dropped for a moment, and then she shook her head at him fiercely. "This isn't funny, Elrohir!"

His other hand patted hers soothingly. "No, it is not a laughing matter, I know. But the tone of your voice sounded very much like my Adar's when he told us of the need for an escort, and his decision on our inclusion in it; and his warning used almost the exact wording _and _tone as yours did. I just could not resist the temptation."

"You will be careful," she insisted.

"We will be careful, and return as soon as possible," he promised. "Estel will barely have time to notice that we are gone before we will be back."

She found it hard in that moment to remember that this ageless warrior had been traveling across the face of Middle-earth since long before her birth, and that he was quite capable of taking care of himself. But the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of his leaving was much akin to the one she used to feel when she knew Arathorn was preparing himself to depart to dangerous places, and she didn't like it a bit. "When do you leave?"

"At dawn tomorrow," was the gentle answer, "probably before either you or Estel are up." He patted her arm again. "And now, if you will excuse me, I should probably make certain my scatter-brained brother is doing what he is supposed to do to prepare. Until our next meeting, may the stars shine brightly upon you."

"And upon you, Elrohir. May the blessings of the Valar keep you and Elladan safe and bring you back to us in good time."

Elrohir folded his hand over his heart to bow to her and then hurried off down a branching hallway, leaving Gilraen to walk the last few paces to Master Elrond's office door alone. She stood still, however, watching him vanish around a corner and into another wing of the sprawling mansion.

Oh, she would be up to farewell them in the early morning, even if her son wasn't! If her life at home had taught her anything, it was to take every opportunity to spend time with loved ones before they departed, because one could never be certain that they'd be seen again.

Her day just a little darker than it had been moments earlier, she sighed and turned to take those last steps to see her current set of reports duly tendered. Maybe she would spend the afternoon in one of the more private gardens; she certainly wasn't in the mood for sewing or conversation anymore.

oOoOo

By mutual agreement, both Gilraen and her son were awake long before dawn. They had dressed by candlelight and, the moment they heard movement outside their suite, had gone to investigate. Cooks were organizing the final packing of foodstuffs for the trip, and servants were rushing to finish last-minute details.

Gilraen had looked for and then headed toward the tall figure of the master of the house, following him out the door. Elrond began giving each of the warriors that would make up the company final instructions and a personal farewell. Elladan and Elrohir, garbed in shining armor she hadn't seen for years, stood to one side with Glorfindel, talking seriously and intensely.

With a hand on Estel's shoulder to keep him from running over to his foster brothers at the wrong moment, Gilraen found a place near the steps next to Erestor. Estel gazed out at his foster brothers sadly and then looked up at his mother. "I don't want them to go, Nana," Estel complained softly.

Erestor looked down at his pupil. " They go as part of a group charged with guarding the life of one who is coming to your benefit, Estel. They do this for love of you."

"But they're going to be gone a long time!"

"Two months is not so very long, little brother," Elladan said, approaching finally as his brother finished talking to Glorfindel. "Erestor and Glorfindel will have you busy enough in the meanwhile that you will not even notice we are gone until we are already back. And when we get back, you will be so busy learning how to shoot arrows…"

"I won't ever be _that _busy, Elladan." Estel countered indignantly.

Elladan nodded. "Perhaps, and perhaps not. But come now, can you not give me a warrior's farewell?"

Gilraen watched as Elladan bent a bit at the waist so that he could accept the hands-to-forearms clasp that was the way that all warriors - Elven and Dúnedain alike - greeted and bid each other farewell. "May the stars watch over you, little brother. Learn all that Erestor and Glorfindel have to teach you while I am away, for you will have to tell me all about it when I return."

"To me as well." Elrohir had finally finished his talk with Glorfindel and joined the small group. He lowered his voice and bent towards Estel. "And we need to ask you to keep an eye on Adar for us too. See to that he does not get too lonely for the company of younger minds." Gilraen stifled a small smile at the twinkle in Elrohir's eye as he too accepted his warrior's clasp from her son.

And then it was her turn. Looking at the both of them, standing there before her like the strong and ancient warriors of old that they truly were, Gilraen found herself unsure of just how to tell them goodbye. In not quite eight years, these two had gone from being the indistinguishable and infinitely strange companions of her husband, beings who had spirited her away from everything she knew in the middle of the night, to being close friends - family - with those small traits that distinguished the one from the other now clearly visible. Seeing them in their all-too familiar armor again, all polished and proud, made her heart both swell with affection and cringe in fear for them. "Don't be gone too long," she warned them both, "for you'll be sorely missed - and not just by my son."

The two glanced at each other, and then in unison they leaned forward to each drop a gentle kiss on a cheek. "May the stars guide and protect you from all harm, Gilraen," Elladan said in a whisper near one ear.

"We will be careful, we promise," Elrohir whispered into the other ear.

Then they were giving their formal farewells to their father, each accepting a tight and loving embrace from him and then a warriors clasp before walking proudly over to where their two sleek, black war horses pranced and waited for them. The other warriors all mounted their horses in unison with the twins, and the spectacle reminded Gilraen of that measured dance the trainees did with their swords in the practice ring.

Glorfindel waited until the departing mounts were nearly to the first turn in the road that led out of the ravine to the east before walking over to join Gilraen and Estel. "Come. There is a good, hot breakfast waiting for us." Estel nodded and slumped his shoulders as the last mount vanished from view, turning and heading back indoors. Erestor tucked his hands inside his dark robes and, after a sigh, followed Estel.

"Lady?" Glorfindel asked when Gilraen didn't move.

Her eyes were on the master of the hall, who still stood where he had bid his sons farewell. "I'll be in after a bit," she answered him absently, then stepped forward into the courtyard.

In that moment, Elrond seemed not so much the wise and beloved Master of Imladris as he did the anxious parent, and that fact drew her like a moth to a flame. How often had he watched his sons leave, heading into far less friendly territory, not knowing when - or if - they would ever return to him? The last eight years, when they had remained home with their blood-lust somehow miraculously cooled, had been relieved ones, she was certain.

For the first time since she had met him, Elrond seemed oblivious to what was going on around him. His concentration was so very tightly fixed on that curve in the dusty road, around which his sons had just disappeared at the head of a company of capable Elven warriors, that she doubted that he even was aware that she had joined him. She could almost appreciate what he was going through; all she had to do was imagine that a fully-grown Estel had ridden off with them.

"It's still hard to let them go, isn't it?" she asked finally, turning away from him to gaze down the now-empty road as he did.

Elrond drew in a deep breath, roused and seemed to remember where he was. "In these uncertain times, it is never easy to watch them ride away - whether it be on good occasion or dangerous one," he answered in a bleak voice, his eyes still on the road.

"Does it ever get easier?" As difficult as it was to imagine, the day she dreaded _would_ come; and then it would be her turn to stand here after watching Es… Aragorn… disappear down that same road.

Slowly he shook his head. "Not really. And it only is worse when you know that their path will take them into unhealthy lands." He glanced into Gilraen's face knowingly at last. "I wish there were some word of comfort I could offer you, as I know exactly of what you are thinking. The day approaches when you will stand where I do, watching your son ride off into dangerous places. Believe me when I tell you I dread that day almost as much as you do."

Gilraen found herself caught in his deep and ancient gaze. She knew how much he loved her son; for years now, he consistently treated Estel with the same combination of love, humor and discipline as he treated his own children. No doubt when that dreaded day came, he would be standing here, right along side her in the courtyard, watching Estel take his leave, no less upset or concerned than she. "How do you bear it?" She'd asked this question before, long ago, but couldn't help but ask it again.

"I remind myself that it does no good to allow the worry to take control," he replied, catching at her elbow with a large hand and gently turning them both toward the Last Homely House. "Worry accomplishes nothing. If all is to end well, then the energy spent would be truly wasted. And if things will go badly after all, then the worry would have accomplished nothing useful."

She glanced at his face as he walked beside her, and then glanced again. "And yet _you_ still worry," she noted.

The smile that bloomed on his ageless face was a gentle and chagrined one. "Absolutely! It is virtually impossible for any loving parent to do otherwise. The lesson is offered to you for the wisdom it contains, and for the comfort it can offer both before and after the fact, if nothing else, Gilraen. To actually put it into practice in the moment it is needed, on the other hand, is most exquisitely difficult, even for one who has had as much practice at it as I have. I know that my sons are well-trained warriors, as capable of defending themselves if challenged as any in Middle-earth. And this day, they ride accompanied by many with similar training and experience. I have foreseen nothing of any real concern in regards to this journey, or the return trip."

He sighed and closed the massive front door behind them and then resumed escorting her toward the private dining hall. "But I fear I have allowed myself to grow a little too accustomed to having them at home again, laughing and enjoying life again; it has been such a joy to me after so many centuries with them absent or driven by the darker emotions, seeing them only when one was wounded nearly unto death. With luck, they will not need to leave again until the time comes to escort our borrowed archery master back to Thranduil's halls."

The sideboard in the little dining hall used by the Master's family was already well-stocked with typical morning items. Glorfindel, sitting next to a very glum-looking Estel, gave Elrond and Gilraen a small wave as they entered. The two of them served themselves - although Gilraen noted from the small portions on the plates that neither she nor Elrond seemed particularly hungry that morning- and then settled at the table with them.

"I was thinking, Elrond," Glorfindel began, and Gilraen started when she realized that his gaze rested on _her_ face, and not on that of the Master of the House. "The day is going to be a fine and extra warm one. How open are you to being lured out of your office?"

Elrond lifted the carafe of fruit juice with an arched eyebrow in Gilraen's direction, and then poured some for her when she nodded. "That would depend. What did you have in mind?"

Glorfindel attention shifted, and his hand ruffled Estel's dark curls. "I was thinking that we all could use an opportunity to smile, actually. My thought was to have the cooks pack us a luncheon and ride up to the hot spring for a picnic and day of relaxation."

"Master Elrond has to prepare for the delegation from Lonely Mountain, which will arrive in just a few more days," Erestor countered stonily, joining them at the table with a slice of bread with honey on his plate. "Why am I not surprised that our spoiled Vanya is instigating our lord to escape his duties yet again?"

"Frankly, _you_ could use an excuse to get away from the library and your work as well, my stiff, Noldo friend," Glorfindel smiled widely and announced pointedly. "Too many weeks in that somber black robe of yours, stuck amid dusty scrolls and ink wells, can turn anyone positively gloomy."

Erestor shot a withering glare in Glorfindel's direction and continued his argument against the suggestion as if the golden warrior hadn't spoken at all, "And besides, Estel and I still need to finish an exercise in diplomacy, which…"

Gilraen's lips twitched as Estel's face folded even more unhappily and he gave a very soft groan.

"Actually, Erestor, I think we can accommodate your concerns about Estel's education and Glorfindel's need for recreation at the same time," Elrond stated, his eyes settling on Estel's face even as a hand settled on the boy's shoulder. "What do you say, my son? A pleasant ride, a relaxing luncheon out of doors, an hour or so beneath the trees with your Ada and Erestor working on diplomacy, and then…"

"You will take part in the lesson?" Erestor gaped, now ignoring the delighted surprise and smile replacing the gloom and frustration on Estel's face.

"I assume such is not out of the question?" Elrond chuckled at his councilor's surprise.

"Of course not. It is just that…"

"That I have only heard of, but not seen for myself, the kinds of solutions my son has been coming up with lately," Elrond finished for the Elf, "and I believe it is time for that situation to end." He turned to Gilraen. "It seems Estel is amenable, and so what say you, Lady? A relaxing day, no reports, _no mending_," he lowered his voice warningly, as if he knew all too well that Gilraen, given the chance, would bring some sort of task to keep herself occupied while the others sported. "The hot spring would make for a very relaxing destination. When the lesson is completed, Erestor, Estel and I will join you in the water for some exercise."

Erestor's mouth worked silently for a moment. "But what about the delegation from…"

"They are not arriving for another week yet, my friend. Surely six days' worth of preparation should be sufficient!" Elrond turned back to Gilraen. "What do you think?"

Actually, Gilraen had found Elrond's suggestion intriguing. The hot spring was far enough away from the main house that one couldn't just visit it on a whim, and yet close enough to be well within the Imladrim fences. The family had been there several times on days very much like this one. And, she decided, it might help keep something other than a sad scowl on Estel's face. "I think that sounds like a lovely idea, Master Elrond. As Glorfindel says, it would be good to have reason to smile today."

"And there you have it," Glorfindel crowed triumphantly. He gave a tiny shove to Erestor's shoulder. "You are out-voted, my over-closeted friend. Go pack up whatever it is you have to take along with you so that Estel's lesson might not be hindered, and don't forget fresh clothing for after the swim."

Elrond chortled around his fruit juice. "Let the poor Elf at least break his fast, Glorfindel!"

Gilraen found herself hard pressed to keep from smiling at the way the Glorfindel preened and prodded at both Erestor and Estel. Perhaps a relaxing day with no duties or responsibilities after the sad farewells that morning would be just what was needed.

oOoOo

"I should have brought my mending after all, no matter what Master Elrond said," Gilraen muttered to herself as she finished packing away the remains of a very substantial picnic lunch.

Glorfindel lifted the blanket from the grass and, with arms long enough for the task, began folding it. "Why do you say that? Today is for relaxation and recreation - not for diligence to chores done each and every other day."

She lifted her eyes and found him grinning from ear to ear at her. "Erestor's right, you _do_ instigate things and promote dereliction to duty!" she accused.

"Guilty as charged, my Lady, for today anyway," he chuckled back, shifting the neatly folded blanket onto one arm so his formal bow to her could be unencumbered. "And your point is…?"

He'd done it again: managed to nudge aside her temper and get her to smile again. She just shook her head at him. "You're impossible when you get into one of these moods."

And now he laughed at her gaily, stepping forward to drop the folded blanket on top of the other packed bundles. "And again I ask, your point being…?"

"Do you mind?" Erestor chided pointedly, his tone clearly demonstrating his irritation. "We are trying to concentrate over here…" Next to him, Estel's eyes were fixed on something in the grass in front of him, obviously oblivious to everything going on around him. Elrond merely leaned back against a nearby tree trunk, hands behind his neck, long legs stretched out with ankles crossed, and shook his head at the lot of them.

"You see?" Glorfindel rose smoothly and reached down to snatch at Gilraen's hand. "We have our instructions. As two people with no further duties, we can now go relax in the shallows of the pool."

She let him pull her to her feet. "We really shouldn't swim so soon after eating…"

"We are _not_ going to be swimming immediately," he informed her without releasing her hand, tugging her instead over to the pile of tack and the bundles of extra clothing that had been left there when the horses had been turned loose. "We are going to settle into the shallows and let the hot water soak away all our worries and cares. When our friends get tired of thinking so much, they shall join us; and _then_ we shall swim."

Gilraen nodded and sighed. "Sitting and soaking will feel good today," she admitted. It always did, once she would let down her inhibitions and stifled her embarrassment at bathing or swimming with males other than her husband. She still wasn't entirely at ease with all the Elven conventions and standards of decorum.

Glorfindel, as usual, caught onto the reason for her hesitation. "Now, no unhappy thoughts. Here. With luck, this will help." He handed her the bundle of fresh small clothes and towel that had been tied to Rochiril's saddle, along with another roll of material.

"What's this?"

"A blanket, or more specifically, a blanket not covered in grass and small insects from being laid out upon the ground for hours and sat upon." Glorfindel's grey eyes danced. "I thought that you would enjoy a bit of privacy for a change, for when you leave the water. This will not turn transparent when wet, as do your small clothes, you say. When you choose to leave the water, it should protect your modesty nicely."

Gilraen's brows raised in surprise. The first time she and her son had been invited to spend a leisurely afternoon at the hot springs, she had not been aware that the Elves had so few inhibitions about their bodies, and she'd most definitely been unaware of their practices when around those of the opposite sex in swimming or bathing situations. Her visits to the bathing rooms prior to that had been private ones, not even seeing the serving Elves who filled or cleaned the bathing pools. So in fitting with what she had grown up expecting were her experiences in the bathing rooms that she had been surprised to find out on her first trip to the hot springs that such was _not_ the norm in Elven society - nowhere near the norm, in fact.

It had taken a great deal of persuasion from Master Elrond and Glorfindel together, along with sincere promises of turned backs and averted eyes at the appropriate time, for her to finally consent to strip down to her chemise and small clothes and join them in the deliciously heated water. And then, when it was time for them all to get ready for the return trip, she truly hadn't been ready for Master Elrond and Glorfindel both to simply stand up wearing nothing but their skin, and to do so without warning her to turn away ahead of time as if nothing in the world were wrong…

_That_ memory still brought a deep blush of embarrassment to her face, along with a very private and very secret admiring opinion that both the Master of Imladris and his Battle Master managed to keep themselves looking _very_ fit. It also had made certain that, from then on during each subsequent visit to the hot springs, she waited until the others were already submerged before entering and then removed herself from the pool long before Elrond could decide it was time to go. However, her embarrassment at standing up in small clothes rendered virtually transparent by the water was nearly as great as watching the great Master of Imladris and his legendary Battle Master rise from the water in their full glory. At times, she wasn't certain which was worse.

That on this visit, Glorfindel had taken the time to consider her sensitivities on the matter and attempt a solution touched her deeply. "Thank you," she told him sincerely and caught the extra bundle close. "That was very thoughtful of you."

"My pleasure," he assured her, fitting her elbow into his hand and leading the way toward the mineral-encrusted edges of the shallow end of the spring pool. "Just please do not tell Erestor of this; he chooses to believe me totally self-absorbed, and I would not wish to disabuse him of a reason to give me grief." He gave her a cheeky grin, and then pointed. "That is a safe bush behind which to remove your clothing while I get myself into the water."

He was right, the blanket had been woven of far more substantial cloth than the fine linen of her small clothes and chemise. What was more, it was plenty big enough to make for an adequate cover after folding her outer clothing into a neat pile on top of the fresh small clothes for later. As she turned to step from behind her bush, she could hear the sound of water being disturbed. Thrusting the memory of a dripping, gloriously naked Glorfindel into a far and dark corner of her mind and locking it down there, she hesitated. "Are you decently sitting down?"

The water splashed again, and then he answered, "Aye, Lady. It is safe for you now."

Clutching the blanket tightly, she walked from behind her bush and to the edge of the pool. At the opposite end, Glorfindel sat up again, his golden hair now drenched and slicked back from his face, exposing his gently pointed ears. He gazed at her kindly. "I was thinking that you might want to put your blanket on that rock there while you soak, but leave it within reach." His thumb indicated the one large boulder that sat at the edge of the pool. "When you are ready to leave, simply pull it down and wrap yourself again." He then averted his eyes, as she had so often requested they do when she joined them.

Gilraen nodded and moved around the pool to the boulder before pulling the blanket off so as not to get it wet while she stepped into the knee-deep and deliciously hot water. She carefully tossed the blanket up so that it would be within reach when she wanted it, and then turned to sit down quickly. "That's much better!"

"You really should let your hair down and rinse it in the water here," Glorfindel said with a grin. "It may stink of old eggs and Elrohir's unwashed socks after you do, but the minerals in the water here make hair softer." He brushed away a trailing driblet of water from his forehead.

"You jest!"

He shook his head at her. "Not at all! Here, turn around; I can take the pins from your hair."

She blinked at him. Let her hair down, in front of a male not her husband? And in her current state of undress? "I don't know…"

"Do you not believe me?" Blue-grey gazed at her guilelessly. "Or is it that you do not trust me not to lose your hairpins?"

"I trust you," she responded slowly.

"Then turn about and let me take the pins out."

_I am _so_ glad Father isn't here to see this,_ she thought as she slowly turned her back to Glorfindel and felt his deft fingers pull out the pins holding her braid to her head one by one. Then the braid was down, and suddenly her hair was completely loose about her shoulders. "Lean back into my hand," he directed.

His hand and arm was indeed there, supporting her so that only her face remained above water. And were those the fingers of his other hand running gently over her scalp? She sat up quickly, before she could admit to herself that she was enjoying her dip backwards and his ministrations. When she turned to him, he handed her the hairpins, which she deposited on one of the mineral-encrusted mounds that formed the edge of the pool that was closest to the boulder with her blanket.

"Do you still think you should have brought your mending?" he asked when she returned to her spot not far from where he sat.

She stretched, already feeling the beginnings of the languor that inevitably filled her when she soaked in this pool for any length of time. "Probably not," she admitted. "I wouldn't want to get the material wet."

Glorfindel chortled. "I shall turn you into a fun-loving _elvellon_ one day, I swear it."

"You are more than welcome to try," she grinned back at him and flicked her fingers in his direction, spattering his face with droplets.

"You shall be sorry you did that," he warned with a shaking finger. "Just you wait."

"Gilraen." Elrond's voice sounded from behind her. "Lesson time is finished, and we are preparing to join you. If you do not wish water in your face and eyes, you may wish to…"

"Thank you!" She threw her hands up over her face and closed her eyes. "Safe."

"What do you say, my old friend? Shall we?" she heard Elrond ask in an amused tone.

"Indeed we should," came the equally amused answer, followed by an alarmed yip from Estel.

"One, two…"

"Ada! Master Erestor! NOOO!" she heard her son squeal, and then a splash from the deeper pool, followed by two more larger kerplooshes, splattered her generously with water. She lifted her hands from her eyes to see both Erestor's and Elrond's heads bobbing in the deeper water, with Estel treading water next to them, wiping his face as dry as he could. "Nana - how come Ada and Master Erestor can throw me in the water, and I can't push them in?"

"Perhaps because you still are not strong enough to do so, my son," Elrond chuckled, leaning his head back into the water to let it pull the hair from his face.

"Besides, I have no doubt that both your Ada and Master Erestor are most likely quite capable of defending themselves," Gilraen laughed at him, and then widened her eyes when her son's head disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

"Got you!" Estel crowed as he pushed himself up onto his Ada's shoulders and tried to dunk him. Instead, Elrond himself threw himself backwards, dunking them both.

When both reappeared on the surface of the water once more, each wiping their face and laughing, Glorfindel tapped Gilraen on the shoulder. "A much better end to the day, would you not agree?"

"Yes." Gilraen watched the three sporting in the deeper water with a fond smile on her face. "A much better end to the day."

Glorfindel moved into the deeper water to join the others, and Gilraen found herself laughing heartily as three normally serene and wise senior Elf Lords cavorted like children themselves with her son until all were tired enough to want to find a seat in the shallow area and relax.

The afternoon was a warm one, and dappled sunlight danced off of the water as light conversation drifted from one less than urgent topic to the next. Finally, however, Gilraen knew that the time was drawing near when they would have to pack up and begin the ride back to the Last Homely House. She reached up and pulled the blanket from its spot and drew it around her. Content when she saw proof that, even wet, it would successfully shield her body from being displayed inappropriately - meaning that she need not bother anyone to turn away or close their eyes for a change - she rose to her feet and walked to the edge of the pool.

An odd, hissing sound met her ears as she tugged up on the blanket so that it would be out of her way when she stepped over the rime-encrusted edge to the pool. She glanced back over her shoulder to find all three Elf Lords with mouths agape and eyes wide, staring at her… feet?... while Estel still lazily tossed pebbles into the deeper pool without paying his Ada or either of his teachers any mind. As his warm, startled stare slowly moved upward at last to meet her questioning gaze, Elrond blinked, swallowed hard, and then very obviously forced himself to look away. He frowned, hissed something under his breath and then thumped both Glorfindel and Erestor hard in the upper arm to break their stares away from her as well the moment he noticed what they were doing.

Gilraen blushed at the heated and frank appreciation that had been in all three stares, and she quickly checked; but no, she was still quite modestly covered from her shoulders to mid-calf. Confused, and feeling as if she were missing some very important concept, she let go of the hem of the blanket and made quick tracks to her bush, where towels and clean, dry small clothes and chemise waited patiently for her.

oOoOo

The heat of the day had not dissipated with the setting of the sun. The evening's entertainment, therefore, took place on one of the many broad porches of the Last Homely House. Torches in their sconces affixed to surrounding pillars supplied more than sufficient light for Gilraen to be able to tend to her mending while Estel sat at his father's feet as the Master of the House took his turn at story-telling.

Eventually, however, the number of people gathered on the porch slowly dwindled. Elrond finally nudged a drowsy Estel to head off to bed about the same time that he himself bid everyone a good night, guiding his foster son with a gentle hand to the shoulder.

Gilraen, on the other hand, wasn't ready to declare the day at an end yet. And so, with her night's mending finished and carefully folded into a neat bundle on the seat beside her to be returned to Maeniel in the morning, she rose and wandered out the stone archway into the garden beyond. Ithil sat high in the sky, lending a soft light to the summer foliage; stars shone and sparkled brightly in the black canopy overhead.

Gathering the ends of her shawl about her, she found a friendly tree eventually against which to lean her shoulder and look out over the river, which could be heard roaring faintly far below. On evenings like this, she could only marvel anew at the peace and tranquility of the place she now called her home; here, she was the uncontested lady of the house, but without the backbreaking responsibilities of cooking and cleaning.

"May I join you?" Glorfindel's voice sounded gently enough behind her that she didn't start.

She nodded. "Of course."

The tall, golden-haired Elf, dressed in his customary white silk robes, stepped up beside her and followed the direction of her gaze to the rugged cliffs on the other side of the ravine. "I feel I must tender you an apology," he began after a long and quiet moment of companionship. "Elrond, Erestor and I discussed it, and it was decided that perhaps I would be the best one to try to explain…"

Oh yes. Gilraen was grateful for the dim light, for she was certain her face was a brilliant red at the thought of the heated stares she had received so unexpectedly that afternoon. Still, it must not have been too bad if Glorfindel had been elected to explain it to her. If it had been a true breech of Elven etiquette, she was certain that Elrond himself would have taken the matter in hand. She nodded silently and waited for her friend to continue.

The Elf must have been self-conscious, for after another long pause, he cleared his throat. "I want you to know that this was my fault entirely. I had only been thinking of your discomfort and modesty and not…"

"And not…?" Gilraen pressed gently, now getting curious.

"Maybe it _would _be better if Elrond explained it," Glorfindel grumbled to himself.

She turned to face him directly. "I'm certain you are just as capable of telling me what I did wrong," she told him firmly.

"No, no - you did nothing at all wrong, Gilraen. As I said, the error made was on my part. It is just that…"

Gilraen blinked. Glorfindel had folded his arms across his chest and started rocking ever so slightly. Never had she seen him so ill at ease. "Just tell me, before the curiosity takes me!" she exclaimed in amusement. "What happened that had the three of you staring at me as if I had done something completely outrageous?"

Finally, Glorfindel unfolded himself, and his hand found her elbow. "Come, let us sit down and make ourselves comfortable - at least, as comfortable as one can be in this situation," he mumbled the second part as if to himself. Still, Gilraen allowed him to guide her to a stone bench beneath an arbor of roses. When he turned to face her, however, his eyes immediately rose above hers. "Did you wash out the spring water?" he asked suddenly. "From your hair, I mean?"

"I had to; it smelled of rotten food," she replied with a wrinkled nose. "Why?"

"I was right, was I not, that your hair is softer now than usual?" His hand reached up, but didn't quite touch her head.

She shrugged. "I suppose. What does that have to do with…"

The hand fell back into his lap. "You are right; I am stalling." Gilraen blinked. Was his face darker; was he blushing? "Very well. I am certain that you have discovered that there seems to be a large difference in opinion when it comes to matters of… modesty and decorum… between your people and ours?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "A very large difference in opinion. Why?"

"Because you stumbled across another facet of that this afternoon. When I gave you the blanket to protect your modesty, it had not occurred to me the way in which you would have to _handle_ that blanket to remove yourself from the pool."

Gilraen frowned in confusion. "What do you mean, 'handle the blanket?' All I did was pull it up out of the way…"

"Yes, exactly," he interrupted with a nod. "You pulled it up…"

She thought through her actions at the pool. She had stayed more than modestly covered - at no time had her wet and transparent clothing been visible. What in the world could he be talking about? "I don't understand," she complained with a shake of the head. "Why…?"

A very brief glimpse of frustration washed across Glorfindel's face. "Very well. I can see there is no easy way to talk around this, so I guess I may as well speak plainly."

"Please do."

His eyes glittered at her in the moonlight. "I remember the first time you came to the hot springs with us, and your reaction when we got ready to leave. Do you?"

Now Gilraen _did_ blush. "Yes," she barely managed to squeek. Of all the things to have to live with, now she had to contend with the knowledge that Elrond and Glorfindel had actually _noticed_ her looking at them! What they must think of her now!

"That was the first time it occurred to any of us that your people…" He shook himself and seemed to steel himself against something to come. "That was when we realized that your people feel some shame in the exposure of your bodies to one another. In all our long-years, we have never been in quite that situation with one of the Dúnedain before."

"The men would have no trouble, I'm certain," Gilraen explained, feeling some of his embarrassment now. "It was because I am a woman - and none of you are my husband… Among my people, we do not mix the sexes while swimming _or_ bathing, unless it is husband and wife."

"Ah!" Glorfindel's face filled with understanding. "That is the key! I shall have to tell Elrond!"

"It still doesn't explain what happened today," she pointed out.

"Well, just as we had never considered that you would have been shocked by our standing up, I had never considered _our_ reaction to your pulling the blanket up to step from the pool. You see…" He paused and seemed to marshal his thoughts. "You see, what we Elves find… arousing… is the suggestion. The tie of a blouse loosened to show a little more neck, or a hem pulled up a little higher than normal to show an ankle and perhaps a flash of calf…" He gazed earnestly into her eyes. "Understand, please, that nudity during bathing is just accepted - how else are we to clean our bodies, after all. But to be covered and yet let slip or deliberately uncover that which normally is hidden…"

"You mean, I could stand up from that pool without a stitch of clothing on, and you would think nothing of it?" Gilraen gaped. Of course! That would explain why they had just stood up as if nothing at all were amiss! "But when I pulled the blanket up to step out of the pool, I… Oh my!" If it weren't so important that she maintain her composure, she certainly would have broken into hysterical laughter. As it was, she merely put her hand over her mouth and stared up at the stars.

"As you can imagine, you took the three of us very much by surprise with actions we would normally expect from a young woman actively seeking our attentions, or a wife trying to seduce her husband. I am not even certain poor Erestor has yet recovered from the embarrassment of being caught staring; you notice he did not join us this evening. Elrond is more sanguine about such matters, of course; but then, he has been married for many long-years. And I… well…"

"So you _were_ staring at my feet."

"Um…" Glorfindel coughed. "Yes. I am sorry; we all were, for..."

"Yes, well," Gilraen swallowed hard. "I'm sorry too, for…" No. She wouldn't let the memory of Elrond and Glorfindel resurface; not now. "I didn't mean to stare either." She finally worked up the courage to look back into his face, only to find him looking at her with an odd intensity that startled her. Shaken, she rose and wandered back into the garden in search of that friendly tree. Perhaps, with some distance between them, she could figure out exactly what was really going on below the surface of the conversation they'd just shared. She had never been very good at reading between the lines with Arathorn; doing so with Elves seemed infinitely more complicated.

Suddenly, very gentle fingers were carefully removing the pins from her hair and then loosening her braid - just as they had earlier in the day. She stood still, hardly daring to breathe, as long fingers combed through her hair to spread it across her shoulders and down her back. "Just as I imagined," Glorfindel commented softly, his voice deeper, huskier than normal, "as soft as silk and as dark as night." Over and over the fingers ran gently through her tresses, even down her back to her waist, to finally return to rest very carefully on her shoulders. "I did not mind your gaze that day, Gilraen," that deep voice stated softly at last, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath on her skin. "And, if it makes any difference to you, all three of us agree that your ankle and calf are… magnificent."

Gilraen turned to gaze at him in both surprise and shock. So caught was she in that intense gaze that she barely noted his gathering one of her hands into his to deposit the loosened hairpins back into her keeping. At last Glorfindel broke the impasse, stretching out a finger to tease away a tendril of hair that had dared ride the breeze onto her cheek, all without touching her skin.

And then he turned and was gone, leaving Gilraen staring after him into the darkness with the risen gooseflesh of knowing something mysterious and dangerous - and all too tempting - had just passed her way. She found herself wondering, as she tucked the hairpins into a pocket and gathered her hair to braid it again loosely, if she would ever, _ever_, understand these ancient, incomprehensible - magnificent - beings around her. Then again, perhaps it was better that they remain a mystery, for understanding them risked bringing on challenges she wasn't certain she was ready to face.

One thing was certain: she wasn't going to find sleep easily _this_ night.


	6. Riding Fences Part 1

"Nana, are you all right?"

Gilraen leaned her forehead harder into the palm of her hand. "I shall be well presently, Estel; it's only a headache."

She heard a rustle, and then her thirteen year-old son's hand landed very gently on the back of her head. "Do you want me to go get Ada for you?" he asked, his voice kept deliberately soft so as not to jar her ears.

In some ways, she knew that would probably be wise. When one of these headaches struck, it often took one of Master Elrond's potent teas to break through the pain enough to allow her to function again. But this day, she knew the Master of the House was busy with visiting Dúnedain. She needed to honor her promise to stay out of his road in such events, and to keep Estel distant as well. "Not today, my son. Your _adar_ is very busy, and I would not interrupt him - and I don't want you to either."

Estel moved his hand to her shoulder and leaned a bit to hug. When had he gotten big enough to do that? "But I hate to see you hurt so, though. Maybe I can try my hand at making some willow-bark tea for you this time? Ada has been teaching me about…"

"Thank you for thinking of me, Estel, but I think I just need to finish with these servant schedules and then lie down for a while to rest." She reached up and patted his hand on her shoulder. "You go on; I'm certain Glorfindel is wondering where you are."

"Masters Erestor and Glorfindel have given me the day to myself," Estel replied, obviously pleased at the development. "I even got a 'most satisfactory progress' from Erestor yesterday regarding my essay on the War of Wrath."

Gilraen was impressed. Erestor pronouncing anything 'satisfactory' was high praise indeed; and she knew how hard Estel had worked on that essay. "And is Glorfindel equally satisfied with you?" she asked, allowing his wish to gloat a little the chance to draw her out of the pain just slightly.

She felt Estel fidget against her. "He still thinks I should spend more time with the bow, preparing for Master Glawaron's next visit from Eryn Galen, but he is happy with my sword work. I suppose I should go to the archery range for a while today."

If she hadn't hurt so much, she would have chuckled at him. "You do that. I'll be fine, don't worry about me. As I said, all I have to do is finish these schedules, and I'll be very quiet for the rest of the day. That should handle the headache." As much as she loved her son, right now, the last thing she wanted was to be talking to him.

She felt a gentle kiss on her brow and heard the sound of his footsteps heading out of the reading room she had commandeered that day for her workspace. At last it was quiet again!

Oh, but her head ached - almost to the point of giving her nausea - and she still had the bulk of the servant schedule to review and adjust for the next week as well as the monthly inventory. Propping her other elbow on the table in front of her as well now, she rested her forehead in both hands with eyes closed. Maybe just a short rest like this would give her the little bit she'd need to finish things off and then go hide in her chambers for the rest of the day.

She had no idea how much time had passed; but she jumped when something thudded gently on the table in front of her, and groaned when the movement made her headache spike even worse. She opened her eyes to see that her paperwork had been moved from in front of her, and that one of Elrond's blue ceramic mugs now sat before her, filled with a surprisingly fragrant tea.

"Estel, I told you not to bother your Ada…"

"He did not disturb Elrond," Glorfindel's voice countered gently from behind her. "I met him as he was on his way out to practice his archery, and he told me of your distress. This is a tea I made once for another often afflicted as you are now."

Too miserable not to do as told, Gilraen lifted the mug and sipped carefully at the hot liquid. "Willow-bark?" she asked finally.

"Yes, with chamomile to aid in relaxing and mint to help settle the stomach. If you are anything like my… Well, anyway… It has been my experience that the stomach often ended up as unhappy as the head at times like these. And there's a touch of honey, to cut any remaining bitterness."

"This actually isn't that bad," she allowed, and then sipped again. The tea was delicate and not at all unpleasant. And, as much as she acknowledged Master Elrond's command of herbal lore, his teas sometimes left a great deal to be desired in the matter of taste. Even Elladan and Elrohir tended to wrinkle their noses when reminded of their father's remedies. It was often a source of in-family teasing, with Elrond himself being both the target and a good-natured audience, laughing heartily at his sons' wit and exaggerated acting.

"I am glad that you find it so," Glorfindel said softly from directly behind her.

Gilraen had grown used to this otherwise daunting Elf and his idiosyncrasies; and so even though she was still miserable, she wasn't surprised to feel the first of her hairpins being carefully withdrawn. "Why is it, do you think, that you feel that taking my hair down is the answer to a headache, of all things?" she asked dryly as the pile of pins on the table near her hand grew steadily.

She hadn't expected her question to make him stop. It never had in the past, and it didn't this time either. Ever since he'd taken her hair down at the hot springs that first time, he'd made a point of finding quiet, private moments to do it again. Her hair, so different from his own, seemed to fascinate him almost to the point of obsession. "At the moment, you need as little pressure or tension on your poor head as you can get; and not having long, metal pins holding up all this weight and digging into your scalp will be a relief," he reasoned quietly with her. "Trust me, Míreth."

Míreth. That was what he called her now when they were alone. She couldn't even remember the first time he'd used it. What was more, he used a special tone of voice when he would pronounce that name - that _epessë_, as Elrond would call it - that would remind her of the way Arathorn used to call her "my star." Both made her feel warm and cherished inside; but there were times now when Glorfindel confused her by using it, the present moment being one of them.

Her braid tumbled down her back, and Glorfindel wasted no time undoing it. The moment her hair was completely loose about her shoulders, his fingers were raking through her hair and gently stroking her scalp from the nape of her neck upwards. Warmth flowed into her from his fingertips and soothed the ragged edges of her headache, and she sighed as she sat up a little straighter into his ministrations.

"Was I wrong?" he asked softly, his fingers returning to the back of her neck and then downward, pressing gentle warmth into those muscles as well. "Does this not feel better?"

"Mmmmm!" She dropped her head forward as his hands continued on to her shoulders, and the warmth that had flowed so gently into her from his fingertips now poured into her from the palms of his hands in a steady stream. "You weren't entirely wrong," she conceded finally. "The massage doesn't hurt either."

"Keep working at the tea, Míreth," he directed with a low chuckle.

She whimpered a quiet complaint when he removed his hands and that delicious, soothing warmth from her shoulders and reached in front of her to gather her paperwork. "No! I need to finish that…"

Glorfindel evaded her hands with disgusting ease. "You may finish it when you feel more yourself," he chided. "I shall give these to Erestor for safe-keeping, so you know where to find them when you are ready; but you are finished with work for the day."

Gilraen scowled, but knew she was in no shape to cross a determined Glorfindel when he'd chosen a path of action. His suede-garbed figure vanished through the doorway of her reading room, but was soon back. "Do not glower at me so," he shook his head at her as he walked toward her again. "You know as well as I that you would not be content with the quality of your work if you continued on while feeling this poorly. I am but doing you a favor for which you will thank me tomorrow."

"So what am I to do when Master Elrond comes looking for a report that should be on his desk, finished, by the end of the day?" Her voice hurt her own ears that time, and she flinched and sipped again at her tea.

"Master Elrond will not come looking for the report, for I shall speak to him after I have you settled."

That made her eyebrows soar. "After you what?"

"Once you have finished the tea, and I am reasonably certain you will not collapse, I shall escort you to your chambers and settle you in bed." He held up a long forefinger at the first hint of protest. "The moment I can catch Elrond, I will tell him that you are indisposed with one of your headaches and that you will tender your finished report at the earliest possible opportunity after you have recovered. I would imagine that he will look in on you himself later, to make certain of your condition. In the meanwhile, however, you will drink my tea, rest and recover." He shifted to point at the mug, which she was holding motionless in front of her face. "Finish."

"Please don't treat me like a child, Glorfindel," she snapped half-heartedly and then closed her eyes in humiliation. She _was_ a child to him; what did she expect? He was ancient, one who had lived and died an ancient once before and now lived again and was ancient a second time around. By Elven measure, she had not even gained her majority yet.

"Trust me when I tell you that I see no child when I look at you, Míreth," he soothed smoothly. "I only ask your cooperation in seeing to your own well-being, nothing more and nothing less. It distresses me to see you suffer so."

"I'm sorry," she sighed and drained the last of the tea. She had to admit that the headache was a little less overwhelming at the moment, and her stomach didn't feel as if it was on the verge of losing what little she had eaten for midday meal.

"I know," he told her kindly, then had one hand at an elbow and another at her waist. "Come now. The sooner I get you to your chambers, the sooner you can lie down and sleep away the headache."

"At least plait my hair loosely again!" Gilraen begged as she was urged and supported in rising to her feet. "It isn't right to be seen so completely undone in the middle of the day!"

Again Glorfindel chuckled at her, but he soon set about to comply with her wishes. "No Elf would think anything amiss if you would walk among them with your hair undone. I have told you this many times."

"And I keep reminding you that I am no Elf," she countered tiredly, "and what's more, there are Dúnedain in the House today. What if…"

"Peace. You and I both know that Elrond's office is on the other side of the House from the path we will walk. You will not be seen; and even if you were, only the shape of your ears would give away your kinship, a fact that would remain more hidden if your hair were to hang free."

Gilraen sighed. "I give up. I can never argue with anyone when I feel like this."

"At least you know your limitations. Shall I undo the braid again?"

"No! You may play with my hair another time; today I just want to find a dark hole and hide."

Glorfindel tucked her into his side, with one arm about her waist and the other cradling her elbow again. "My poor Míreth. I should not try to raise your spirits at the cost of your head. Come along then. Does the light affect you as well?"

"Yes." It was almost a groan.

"Then keep your eyes closed and trust me."

His guidance was slow and steady. Gilraen knew that if she wanted to put forth the effort to remember the path between the library and her chamber, she would find her steps making each turn in sequence. Although, without using her sight, the trip seemed to be taking a very long time.

"Glorfindel? Gilraen? What is this?"

What was Master Elrond doing on this side of the House - at this hour of the day - when he had meetings scheduled with his Dúnedain visitors in his office for the entirety of the day?

Glorfindel spoke up before Gilraen could marshal her scattered wits. "She has another of her headaches. I told her she could work on her reports and schedules another time, gave her some tea to help with the pain, and now I'm seeing her to her chambers. Nothing you yourself would not have done in the same situation."

Gilraen cracked her eyes open and found herself astonished at the measure of surprise and consternation in the face of her host, an expression that quickly was replaced by a healer's concern the moment Elrond noticed her looking at him. "It is that bad again this time, child?" he asked gently.

Slowly she nodded and closed her eyes again. She was grateful that Glorfindel had such a good hold on her, for her sense of balance was beginning to wane.

When Elrond spoke next, he sounded resigned. "Very well. I will leave you to see her to her rooms and make her comfortable; but I would speak to you a little later, if you would, Glorfindel. Gilraen, I will be in to see you before suppertime."

"Thank you, Master Elrond." Her voice was small; her reserves of energy almost gone now.

"Master Elrond." Glorfindel's bow was a small one, and he began leading her again immediately afterwards.

She waited until she hoped they were far enough away not to be overheard. "Are you in trouble for something?"

"Nay, Míreth. Do not give yourself another matter to feed the headache. Let us get you comfortable now…"

oOoOo

The late Spring evening was warm, and Gilraen allowed her feet to carry her out of the Hall of Fire and into the gardens. As usual on the day after one of her horrid headaches, her senses seemed to be working overtime. The roses, just beginning to bloom, cast their perfume into the air to mix with that of the wisteria and jasmine. On the breeze was the clean smell of the forest beyond the hedges and trees that outlined the very boundaries of the settlement. Overhead, the stars were bright and twinkling, with Gil-Estel almost as bright as Ithil herself.

Oddly, Glorfindel was evidently not making any effort to join her that evening. It had become almost a routine of sorts: after the tales had been told or the songs sung, and after Estel had been bid goodnight and sent off to a chamber he no longer had to share with his mother, she would take a short walk in the garden and quickly find herself with a companion. At times he merely walked with her or sat next to her, letting the silences grow without letting them become burdens. Other times, he made a point of making her smile or chuckle to herself at his pointed and often humorous observations of people or events.

She missed him. For one thing, she wanted to thank him for the tea that had appeared on the tray next to her bed every time she had roused with her headache over the last day and a half; it had helped. For another, she wanted to worry at him about the look on Master Elrond's face when they had met him in the hallway. But, it seemed, such things would have to wait for another evening, another walk in the garden. She settled by a fountain and trailed her fingers in the water.

"I am not disturbing you, am I?" She looked up at Elrond's gentle question.

"Of course not," she replied, rising. "You are always welcome company."

"Good. Walk with me?" Elrond commandeered her arm into the crook of his and began leading her on a slow, meandering trek that would eventually aim the two of them up the narrow path to the lookout over Imladris. "You are feeling completely recovered now?"

"Except for a little sound sensitivity, yes; and thank you for the teas yesterday."

"Yes, well, Glorfindel was quite insistent that I provide you with _his_ recipe for relief. He seemed convinced that he had the more effective tea." Gilraen was grateful for the light of the waxing moon, for it showed her that the Master of Imladris was not overly upset by the idea of having his prescriptions dictated _to_ him by others. "It served you well then?"

"Between the tea and staying quiet for the entire day, I am nearly myself again. I promise I'll have those schedules for you first thing in…"

Elrond patted her hand on his arm. "Do not worry yourself about those reports. I am certain the House will continue to function well enough without them until you catch up again."

He seemed to be in a reasonably good mood this evening; perhaps _he_ could explain what was in his mind with that disturbed expression the other day… "Master Elrond…"

He shook his head at her as he moved in front of her on the narrow path, still retaining hold on her hand to give her stability. "We are quite alone, and I need no titles outside my office or audience chamber. Careful," he cautioned as her foot slipped slightly on a rock covered with loose leave debris.

"Elrond," Gilraen amended, clinging tightly to the large hand and glad that the climb was nearly half over. "I was wondering if I might ask you a question."

"Of course you may, my dear," he replied in a gentle tone. "This would seem a perfect opportunity to dispel questions, especially," he hesitated and sent a surprisingly sharp glance back in her direction, "if such questions are of a private or personal nature."

"Not terribly so, but…" She steeled herself. This had bothered her for over a day, and she didn't like to think that she or anything she might have done would have caused trouble for anyone. "Did either Glorfindel or I do something to displease you the other day?"

That actually stopped him and made him turn slightly so he could look at her. "Why do you ask?" he inquired carefully.

"I may have been ill, but I know what I saw," she answered honestly. "For a moment, when we met you in the hallway while Glorfindel was helping me to my chambers, you looked quite upset."

"I was not upset per se," he admitted, resuming the hike at a pace she could tell was tailored to her much shorter legs. "I was, however, quite concerned at what I saw, considering other things that I have noticed of late."

"Such as?" she prompted, curious and worried now.

For a long moment he said nothing, during which he conscientiously assisted her for the last few paces up the hillside and then into the small clearing. Not relinquishing his hold on her hand as yet, he pulled her back toward the rising mountain behind them, where he invited her to sit on a boulder of comfortable height and size. "Elrond?" she inquired again.

The Elf lord looked out over his valley and took a long, deep breath before glancing at her, sitting beside him. "Forgive me. I am not avoiding your question; I am trying to order my thoughts so that we do not encounter one of those awkward moments of cultural misunderstanding that have given both of us trouble before." He patted her hand and then let it go. "Oddly enough, in many ways, this seems to have all started as the result of one of those moments; do you remember when Glorfindel gave you a blanket to wear when stepping out of the hot spring?"

Gilraen could remember that afternoon clearly, _and_ the looks of frank admiration that had filled three Elven faces. "I remember," she somehow managed, grateful for the dimness of the light that hid what was probably a flaming blush.

"Yes, well…" Elrond cleared his throat; one of the few hints he would ever give that disclosed his own discomfort at the memory. "Glorfindel took responsibility for explaining things to you, as it was his responsibility that the incident had occurred to begin with. When he later was able to explain to me some things that had been quite confusing, I considered the incident finished and the matter closed at the time. But…"

"But?" What in Arda had given him second thoughts.

"But Glorfindel changed, after that evening's discussion with you, did he not?"

Startled, Gilraen blinked up and was pinned by Elrond's gaze, which seemed deeper and more timeless than ever in the reflected light of moon and stars. "Changed?" She cringed inwardly. Could she do nothing but give single word replies in the form of questions?

"Indeed." The Master of Imladris drew his robes close around himself and stretched out his legs. "It was a very gradual change, I would imagine; one that only recently has become noticeable enough to make me look twice. And even then, I noted it only because I have known Glorfindel for a very, very long time. You, however, most likely noticed some differences much sooner." He was quiet for a moment, and Gilraen knew he was studying her face closely. "I am not in error, am I?"

"No, you're not." It would not do to attempt to deny it. Glorfindel _had _changed. He had become more attentive, more _present_ in her life on a far more consistent basis; had given her an _epessë_ somewhere along the line that he would use only in private. He now took liberties with her hair in their private moments - and _she_ allowed it. "Did I do wrong?" she asked again in a small voice, biting her lip. "Am I missing something again?"

Elrond shook his head gently. "You have made no errors, Gilraen - at least, none that you would have known to avoid. As for the other, I suspect the answer is yes; although, again, it would be nothing you would have known to look for. As you are under my guardianship, as it were, this concerns me; but to uncover the truth of the matter, I would have to ask you some possibly uncomfortable questions." He gazed at her earnestly. "I would not proceed without your consent, however. Will you answer my questions?"

She stared at him in consternation. How much did he suspect, and how much had he managed to notice without her knowledge? Would he become more upset as he learned the extent to which she and Glorfindel had become involved? Worse: would this infraction of Elven courtesy and decorum cost her the home she'd had for the last eleven years?

"Understand, please, that I cannot tell if my suspicions are accurate unless you answer me truthfully," he stated evenly. "As this is a matter of concern to me, I need to be certain of the facts of the matter; and as it is also a matter of some delicacy, I cannot explain away a situation of cultural misunderstanding to you - or a decision on my part that will influence your future - without knowing myself on firm ground." He gazed at her intently. "Do you trust me enough to answer?"

Gilraen blinked again. There was no question but that she trusted the Master of Imladris implicitly; he had ever been an advocate, mentor, friend, and an excellent foster father to her son. "I will answer, if I can," she agreed finally.

Elrond exhaled sharply, and Gilraen realized that this was probably going to be no easier for him than it was for her. "Very well then. Am I correct in assuming that you have been spending more time with Glorfindel lately than you did before?"

"Yes." He had long since made a point of daily stopping by the library when she was working, more often than not, right about the time for the midday meal. Since the evening after the incident at the hot springs, he had made a habit of accompanying her into the gardens for a short walk just before retiring as well. "Now that I think on it, I see him nearly every day lately."

"And many of these times that you spend together are private - just the two of you?"

Gilraen felt her face flush. "Yes, but even then, we are always in public places - the library, the gardens…"

"But often as not, alone."

She could read nothing in his tone. "At least half the time," she allowed, still embarrassed.

"I noticed, when I came upon the two of you the other day, that your hair was loose. Now, I know you are usually very diligent about keeping it braided and pinned up in Dúnedain fashion. So tell me: did Glorfindel do that?" He must have been watching her closely and saw her quick grimace, for his voice grew gentle. "I do not mean to embarrass you."

"No, it's all right - and you're correct. He told me that having the pins holding the weight up and dragging at my scalp weren't helping."

"Has he done this before?"

If Gilraen could sink through the boulder, she would have. How many of those late night walks had ended in small alcoves, where Glorfindel had turned her about and taken her hair down and loosened her braid? Too many to count - and, in the end, she had come to enjoy the touch of his fingers running through her hair ever so lightly. "Yes," she squeaked and hid her trembling lips behind her hand.

"And you allowed this." This time, it wasn't a question.

"Yes." Mortified, she could only barely manage a whisper.

Elrond was quiet for a moment, and then: "Has he touched you in other ways as well?"

Had Dírhael been asking the questions, it would have been at the top of his lungs, and his grasp on her arms would have been bruising. For the briefest moment, Gilraen wished with all her heart that she had had Elrond's gentle guidance growing up. That, as well as the thought of disappointing him, made it hard to get the words out. "He… stroked my scalp, when I had the headache, and rubbed my neck and shoulders. It helped…"

"I am certain it did." His tone was dry, but Gilraen didn't hear any sarcasm. "Glorfindel has… talents… that he rarely feels the need to use, unless it is for someone he cares for deeply." He grew silent for a moment, releasing her hand and pulling into himself. "Tell me, is there anything else that he has said or done that is, how shall I put this, more of a personal nature than you would expect from one of my sons, for example?"

Did he really expect her to confess that she now had an _epessë_ all of her own, used only when the two of them were alone? "Yes," she whispered, but then fell silent. No, the name Glorfindel had given her was a private gift. She would admit its existence in the most general of terms only. She could feel him waiting for her to explain herself, but folded her hands in her lap and decided to wait him out.

"It is as I thought then."

"What? What it is?"

Very carefully, very gently, Elrond claimed her hand. "Gilraen, did you know that Glorfindel is married?" he asked, his voice very soft.

"No…" She was aghast. Glorfindel was… married? But he had never said anything… She turned her face away from Elrond, seeking comfort in the stars, in the darkness across the valley, anything but to reveal her humiliation to her host.

"Listen to me. There is a tradition among the Elves… Gilraen? Are you listening?"

She nodded, but her breath caught in her throat. What a fool she'd been!

Elrond chafed her hand again. "There is a tradition among the Elves that sometimes comes into play when one is separated from one's mate by death. You know that for us, death is not the end; we spend time in _Bannoth_ and are later re-housed and returned to rejoin our people in Aman - in the Blessed Lands?" He paused, and again Gilraen nodded obediently, not really wanting a lecture on the subject of Elven immortality at the moment. "In these latter days, it is rare when an Elf loses a mate that the survivor does not soon sail West to wait out their mate's return in Aman. But when, for whatever reason, one mate is in Aman and the other remains in Ennor, and it happens that the separation lasts for several long-years, the Elves developed a tradition in ancient days where a widowed _ellon_ and a widowed _elleth_ could allow a friendship to grow closer than normal between them, so that they could take a small measure of needed comfort from the living that they were now denied through loss."

"Is _that _what he has been doing?" Gilraen didn't know whether to be shocked by Elrond's explanation or insulted at the possibility that Glorfindel's actions might have had an ulterior motive. "He was preparing me to be his _mistress_?"

"Child! No! Calm yourself." Elrond shook his head vehemently. "There is no possibility of a married Elf having an affair as happens in Mortal societies. For us, we join with and bond with one only; and that bond lasts until the breaking of the world, beyond death, if need be. Glorfindel could and would no more dishonor you _or _his wife in that way than he would dishonor himself."

She slumped against his shoulder. "Then I don't understand."

"I know, and it is difficult to explain to outsiders. This is called the g_waedh-gwend_, or comfort friendship. The two individuals involved each accept the other as especially close friends and from then on take a certain measure of responsibility for the welfare of the other on behalf of those who are missing. There is usually a level of emotional intimacy involved which eventually indicates to others that this is more than just a simple friendship, but generally little else happens; at least, that is the _gwaedh-gwend_ as I am most familiar with it.

"What makes this particular situation slightly more complicated, however, lies in the fact that Glorfindel is Vanyar; his people's traditions about the _gwaedh-gwend_ are not all the same as our Noldorin ones. Some of the emotional intimacy within the relationship can go deeper with them; and there can be some physical expressions of the closeness involved that many of my people might consider less than proper." He put his arm about her shoulder and stroked her upper arm with his hand. "When I spoke to him about this after he helped you to your chambers, he confirmed that this seemed to be the direction his relationship with you was taking now."

"But he has never said anything to me about a wife before!" she exclaimed angrily.

Elrond nodded, stoically facing her tumbling emotions in a way that couldn't help but calm her. "I am not surprised. The only reason _I_ know that he is married is because I long ago met some refugees from Doriath who had known Glorfindel and his family in Gondolin before the House of the Golden Flower perished. To my knowledge, he has never spoken of his wife - or of any of his children - to anyone since he was re-housed. I think that to be one way in which the _Belain's_ injunction to him to return to Ennor to assist me weighs the heaviest on him. By agreeing to do as the _Belain_ wished, Glorfindel has denied himself the chance to be there in Aman when any of them is released, his wife most especially."

Gilraen was quiet for a long moment, pondering the many implications of that. "Then why, if he never speaks of her…"

"It could be that you are the first he has ever felt comfortable enough with to dare let down his guard. He has been at my right hand for centuries, and never have I seen him give any of the _ellith_ here the slightest heed. Trust me, I am certain this is not something he did not consider long and hard beforehand. He does you great honor in entrusting you with his inner being, do not doubt this. Glorfindel's error - for the error is indeed his - is both in not explaining himself to you as well as underestimating the ways in which you in time might misunderstand him and his actions through your innocence of our ways."

She pulled back. "But if you've explained things to me now, how will I misunderstand…"

Elrond shook his head at her. "I have given you but the simplest of explanations of a very complex situation. You still run the risk of misinterpreting his actions, or after a time having expectations of him that can never come to pass - expectations that can lead to frustration and dispute eventually. Already you allow him liberties with your person you would not even consider giving to another. A time may come when your comfort with those liberties may lead you to desire him as a woman would desire a man who demonstrates affection for her in a physical manner. Such is the way of your people, is it not - finding a new love, even marrying again?" He waited, and Gilraen nodded finally.

"It happens; not so often among the Dúnedain, but it is not unknown," she answered quietly.

"This was my understanding. But, you see, it is not our way." He took a deep breath. "Gilraen, no matter how close you allow him to get to you - no matter how close he allows you to get to him, physically or emotionally - Glorfindel will never take you to his bed; not even if you ask him to."

"Because he can't; I understand that. He's married…"

"It is not a case of inability." Elrond paused and cleared his throat. "As uncomfortable as this little truth might make us both, you should know that when you lifted that blanket at the hot springs, all three of us there learned very quickly that certain life processes and physical responses do not simply cease because our mates are long-absent from us."

Gilraen's head swiveled sharply. "Oh! My!" She buried her face in her hands.

"But we control them, they do not control us." He tugged gently at her hands. "Just as when Glorfindel and I stood up during another, earlier hot springs visit, I believe you unexpectedly suffered much the same lesson?" At her groan and return of her face to the palms of her hands, he chuckled at her. "Admiring the view does not mean acting mindlessly for any of us, now, does it? We are held in check by other things, including the vows we made to our mates, are we not?"

"I'll never be able to look any of you in the eye again," she whimpered. She could hardly believe that he had brought up the topic again, much less the frank way in which he continued to discuss it - referring to those two very embarrassing episodes with a casual "admiring the view" - although, she had to admit to herself deep down, the description was very apt.

Elrond laughed, obviously quite amused. "Do not be ridiculous! It did none of us any harm to be reminded that we remain attracted to - and _attractive_ to - members of the opposite sex, especially when the one who normally does the reminding is very far away indeed." His voice softened, and his tone grew serious. "And is that not one of the major points of this entire discussion? Glorfindel of late is showing you the kind of attention you have missed receiving from your husband these many years spent here in Imladris, and you have found it pleasant."

"Is that wrong of me?"

"No, provided you proceed from this point forward in an informed manner and with extreme caution. I am frankly surprised that Glorfindel would choose to reveal his inner self to one whose life will be so painfully brief."

Gilraen dared to look up. Elrond's face in the moonlight glowed softly, and his expression was as kind as ever. "Then you aren't angry at him - or me?"

He shook his head disbelievingly. "How could I possibly be angry? You and I have been g_waedh-vellyn_ for several years now, most noticeably when it comes to issues of child-rearing and Estel in particular. What is more, we entered our relationship more or less knowingly on both our parts; although I will grant that you had no idea that what you had agreed to even had a formal name and/or specific boundaries and privileges at the time." He nodded at her widening eyes, but then his gaze softened. "And, just so you know, I have to admit that I have found much comfort in sensing a woman's touch in the running of my household again, and in sharing the joys and burdens of raising another child with one of whom I have become fond."

Elrond shifted uncomfortably and looked away, and Gilraen knew she had just received as much of an open admission of affection from him as she probably ever would get. Would she _ever_ fully understand these incredibly complex and inscrutable beings? "I shall speak to Glorfindel, and request that he discuss this with you as soon as realistically possible," he added brusquely and rose, brushed off the back of his robes, and then put out his hand to her. "But now it grows late, and I believe I have given you much to think on."

She easily returned her hand to his keeping so he could pull her to her feet and begin leading her back down the path to the House. The silence between them was a relief; Elrond had been right to say that he had given her much to consider, almost too much!

He tucked her hand into his elbow as they reached the bottom of the steep path and began sauntering back toward the House. "I am thinking that I will allow Elladan and Elrohir to take Estel with them when they ride to the inner fences with supplies tomorrow," he said gently. "Estel has been begging for permission to do so for weeks, and I think you could use some time where you do not need to worry about him walking in on you when you and Glorfindel are having the discussion that needs to happen."

"Riding the fences?" Despite herself, Gilraen's heart skipped a beat in dread. That term, at home, was not one associated with pleasant memories. Worse, Arathorn had been 'riding the fences' with the sons of Elrond when… "Isn't he a little young to do something that dangerous?"

Elrond evidently sensed her distress, for he patted her hand comfortingly. "To ride the outer fences, yes; it will be a long time yet before he is ready to go anywhere near those. But the inner fences are nowhere near as dangerous, and this is a supply trip, not a duty rotation. Elladan and Elrohir will be quite sufficient as escorts for him, _he_ will enjoy the chance to feel as if he has done a service to Imladris and to do so among other warriors, and _you_ could use the respite."

Gilraen relaxed again, appreciating the diplomacy of Elrond's answer, and the fact that he was not just sending her - their - son off without consulting her. "He told me the other day that Glorfindel said he was satisfied with his progress with the sword, _and_ that Erestor had given him a 'most satisfactory' comment on his essay. I believe he could use a reward, if only to maybe convince him to put in the same effort on his diplomacy studies."

Elrond threw his head back and laughed. "Very true! There are times I worry that his inability to remain serene in the face of stubborn idiocy - even one as contrived as Erestor's - might be the end of the unified Dúnedain as we know it. After all, we _do_ want him to assume his role as Chieftain someday and actually survive the encounter to wield the authority. Any remedy, therefore, to help him develop greater patience and tolerance must be diligently attempted - even if it is a blatant bribe at first." He opened the door into the Great Hall. "So we are agreed then?"

Gilraen found herself smiling. Elrond's laughter always lightened her heart, for some reason. "Yes, we are agreed."

"Then I will bid you goodnight. I have some matters which require my attention before I can retire. May the stars watch over you this night, my dear." He pulled her close and kissed her cheek gently, surprising her. Usually, this delicate gesture landed on her forehead instead.

Gilraen blinked and then relaxed and returned the gesture to an Elven cheek before he could pull away. _Gwaedh-vellon_ indeed. "Goodnight, Elrond. May the stars guide your dreams as well."


	7. Riding Fences Part 2

Estel was bubbling with excitement and could barely sit still in the saddle. Gilraen smiled up at him in pride and indulgence, and knew that Elrond at her side was doing much the same. "Now remember, my son," Elrond held up a long forefinger into the air, "You are to do exactly as your brothers instruct you. Do not wander; do not go exploring. The fences, even the inner ones, are not the safety of the immediate environs around the House." He turned a gazed at Glorfindel, still handing up bundles to be tied behind the riders. "Are you certain he is qualified to carry that?" Elrond's finger moved to the short practice sword at Estel's waist, now housed in a fairly worn-looking scabbard.

"He has earned the right," Glorfindel answered after handing up his last bundle to Elladan. He walked over to join Elrond and Gilraen. "Remember, Estel, unless you are ordered to draw that sword, it stays in the scabbard."

"I'll remember, Master Glorfindel. I'll see you in three days, Nana." Estel bent down to accept a quick hug and then waved. "Ada. Master Erestor."

"We shall keep him out of trouble, Gilraen," Elrohir steered his prancing stallion close, "and he shall have all kinds of stories to tell you when he gets back, no doubt."

"Stay safe!" she called out, raising in farewell the hand not tasked with holding her shawl. Glorfindel's large hand at her elbow steered her back a few steps so that she was safely out of the way of the horses and riders. Once the riders had vanished through the gate, Elrond gave her and Glorfindel a meaningful glance, then bowed shallowly and strode back towards the House with a purposeful gait.

"My lady, I am curious if you have duties to attend to, or if I might request your company for a picnic?" Gilraen looked up and over into serious blue eyes. "I believe there are some matters that we need to discuss in private, you and I," he added in a softer voice.

She searched his gaze, but could see no reluctance or sign that his request had been the result of an order from his lord. "Unfortunately, I still have to finish those reports that were left with Erestor," she answered with regret. "Master Elrond…"

"Master Elrond told me, last night when he spoke to me, to tell you to leave aside the reports until after. He seems to feel that this matter is more important… and it is." His gaze didn't waver. "Please, Gilraen."

"Elrond spoke to you last night?"

The golden Elf nodded. "He said he had just come from a very interesting conversation with you."

Gilraen blinked. Speaking to Glorfindel must have been the business the Master of the House had felt needed his attention before retiring. Evidently Elrond was taking this matter very seriously, to the extent of setting aside her assigned duties to him and sending their son off for several days to create opportunities for her and Glorfindel to have a similar discussion.

"Very well." She had to stifle a chuckle at the look of relief that flooded the Elven face at the ease of her acquiescence. "I'll go talk to the cook to…"

"I have already done so," Glorfindel admitted with some chagrin. "I apologize for seeming to take your agreement for granted, but…"

"It's all right." Gilraen let him off the hook. "Elrond is probably right that we should talk sooner rather than later."

"I shall have Rochiril saddled for you, so wear your riding clothes. I have in mind that small meadow not too far from the hot springs - and perhaps a relaxing soak later. Pack clothing for in case we decide to visit the springs."

While Gilraen wondered briefly at the wisdom of heading back to a place that had already been the site of so much misunderstanding, she had to admit that it would otherwise be quite private. "Won't people talk if we just leave off our duties and vanish for the day?"

A golden eyebrow climbed his forehead. "And what if they do? Elrond is aware of where we are going and what we are about; that is honestly the only obligation either of us has, and it is already fulfilled. What needs to be discussed between us is _our_ business, and not that of any other. Do you not agree?" When Gilraen finally nodded, he returned the nod. "So go get your clothes and change. I'll collect the meal and saddle the horses."

Whatever Gilraen had expected, it wasn't the humor-filled ride that followed. Glorfindel kept the horses at a sedate walk and pointed out things to her that she would have never thought to look for, and then recounted amusing anecdotes that had her giggling like a young girl. The reason they were escaping the serenity of the lavish gardens that surrounded the Last Homely House retreated for a while, not forgotten but postponed.

Finally, however, after a delicious repast punctuated by more of Glorfindel's storytelling expertise and no small amount of laughter, Gilraen could bear the tension of the unspoken no longer. "We really should begin our discussion, my lord," she verbally nudged the Elf who was now handing her empty wrappings to be returned to the picnic bundle, only to see his hand freeze for a moment.

"True. It seems the time has come, has it not?" He didn't look at her, but rose to retrieve the blanket they had shared on the grass and fold it up again. "Very well; perhaps a good place to start is to find out what has already been said. What did Elrond tell you?"

She waited until he looked at her. "He told me you were married, for one thing."

"It should have been I to tell you that," the Elf muttered under his breath, looking away for a moment and then facing her directly. "Are you angry that I did not?"

"I was at first; and then, as Elrond kept talking, I just got confused. The way you were acting - playing with my hair, giving me that _epessë_ - I know that it was probably more my imagination than anything, and you've lived so much longer than I have… How could you think… or want…" Gilraen found her feelings still very much unsettled and difficult to explain. "I felt very foolish. I still feel confused."

"I am sorry, Míreth; I never meant to do more than try to help you find a place…"

"By treating me as if you were courting me?" She folded her brows. "What was I to think? Especially after that night - after what happened here the last time we were here - you told me… you hadn't minded my looking…"

"I truly did not mind your looking," he insisted quietly. "I still do not. Our bodies are not things to be regarded with shame or embarrassment."

"But then why…" Her confusion was growing.

He held out the wad of folded blanket to her. "Allow me to tell you another story, then, and perhaps that will explain things to your satisfaction. In all the long-years that have passed since I came to Imladris, I have allowed myself to feel close to only three women; and of those three, only you are not Elf-kind. I was close to Celebrían because she was the wife of my sworn lord and closest friend. I became close to Arwen over the years as well because in many ways, she reminded me…" He faltered.

"Arwen?"

The crystal-blue eyes flicked quickly to her face, almost guiltily. "Elrond's daughter."

_Elrond has a daughter? Why does nobody in Imladris ever mention her? Why did her father not give _her_ all the duties and responsibilities that Erestor carried for so long - the ones that eventually fell to me? Did something terrible happen to her too - perhaps the same as happened to her mother? Oh! Poor Elrond!_

"And she reminded you of your own daughter?" Gilraen asked very gently.

He nodded silently and looked off into the sky over her head for a long moment, obviously working on controlling his emotions. Eventually he looked back down at her. "And then you came, and took me by surprise."

Her eyebrows soared. So very little ever seemed to take the Balrog-slayer by surprise. "I did _what_?"

"You must understand. While I have known quite well the Dúnedain Elrond has fostered in youth or sheltered later on, I did not make the acquaintance of the _Dúnedenith_ who would sometimes come to deliver their sons into Elrond's keeping. For the most part, those ladies chose to keep close company with their own men-folk and not mix with the Elves." He smiled down at her, his equilibrium evidently now restored. "You are the first _firieth_ I have had the honor of having more than merely espied in the distance or from across a room; and what I saw and heard and learned surprised me."

Gilraen blushed. "I am nothing special," she complained, more to herself than to him.

Glorfindel's hand sought her elbow and guided her back to where she could stow the picnic gear and gather her bundle of toweling, dry small clothes and blanket for the hot spring. "Not all would have weathered the sudden removal from everything you had ever known with the same resilience - especially Elves. We do not handle change well," he stated evenly, "and yet you have begun to blossom and prosper here. Elrond told me once that your father had sent you on with Estel but told you that it wasn't your welfare that mattered; and as I watched you struggle to find your feet and make a place for yourself, I found myself wishing to help smooth your way, if for no other reason than to prove your father wrong. I still intend to give him a piece of my mind someday."

"You have always been a good friend," she admitted, smiling up at him. The absolute last thing she had ever expected to find in this strange and serene place was friendship with a living legend.

"When I saw you still grieved for Arathorn so deeply, I found myself reminded of how Elrond came to my aid a century or so after I came here, when I was overwhelmed with grief. What I didn't expect, however, was that you would turn to _me_ for comfort that evening." Glorfindel's face smoothed into an expression of chagrin. "I had never before considered… and there you were, needing as much as I, touching my grief with your own… As I held you, it was as if some of the shadow lifted from me as well. I too had wept, as you wept, long ago; but never had I looked for or thought to find the kind of comfort that healed; and again you surprised me when you gave me that comfort unasked for even as you took your own. It was as if my eyes opened to the possibility of something very precious in spite of as much as because of its very brief nature." He glanced down at her again. "Did Elrond explain? About the tradition, that is?"

She nodded. "As much as he could. He told me your traditions were different than his, however."

"The differences are matters of degree only. In essence, the practice is the same. "

"But I didn't even know… You didn't say anything…"

"I know," he bent to claim his towel from his saddle and found her elbow again once she had all of her belongings in hand. "Then we shared those… interesting… moments of miscommunications here that resulted in a conversation where I finally needed to set aside all worries about propriety, and I found I had made my connection with you without realizing it. I had already touched you in a manner most inappropriate within the bounds of a normal friendship - and you had accepted that touch once and then did so again. I took it as a sign that…" The tips of his ears turned a bright pink. "I admit I presumed much."

Gilraen in turn blushed deeply. "You startled me, and yet, there is so much that I don't understand about your people that I let it continue, thinking that maybe such things are not of so much import for you. Until Elrond said something, I didn't realize…"

"Elrond began to notice, but began to watch more closely after Elladan came to him with some of _his_ concerns. You see, Elladan and Elrohir are the ones who are most familiar with your people and their ways. Elladan saw us together in the garden one evening, I gather, and took his worries about what he saw and heard first to his brother and then to his father. As you are Elrond's to keep while you are here, Elladan wanted to protect you, to make certain that all was kept above-board." Glorfindel's face grew a little more chagrined. "As it was, I should have asked my lord's permission first, you see…"

"To court me… or whatever…" she added when he gave her a quick glance.

"Yes, I suppose in your understanding at the time, it was a form of courting," he admitted finally, drawing her to a halt next to bushes that bordered the shallow pool. "And I should have asked your permission as well - or at least spoken before now, when so much is already accomplished."

"Do you…" Gilraen swallowed hard. "Do you regret it now…"

"No." The firmness of his answer drew her to gaze at him again. "If there are any regrets, they concern the needless misunderstandings or awkwardnesses that could have been avoided. But what of you? Would you be more comfortable if we…"

She shook her head. "I've gotten used to having you nearby, of being able to feel like I _could_ lean on you if I needed to…"

"You could always lean on Elrond instead," Glorfindel told her softly. "It might be less controversial that way, in fact. As I have never made a show of my grief for my wife or even spoken of her at all, many in Imladris view me as unmarried and quite available; and such will invite talk and gossip if or when one of our times together is noted, which it eventually will."

"I do lean on Elrond, in matters concerning our son - my son. As far as the women of Imladris gossiping, I suspect that they will eventually even gossip about my time with Elrond; and I would rather not put the Master of the House in an awkward position with his people if I can help it."

"He would not deny you if you needed or wished more from him, you know. He may hold his emotions very close, but I can tell that he is fond of you."

Again she shook her head. "I am content with the way things are." She gave him a searching look. "Unless it is you that would rather steer clear of the controversy."

He shook his golden head vigorously. "I am not bothered by the cackling of frustrated _ellith_ seeking mates. I have borne them for over an Age, I can bear them for a while longer." Then it was his turn to gaze at her intently. "You understand the limits of what we would share?"

"Elrond made things quite clear." She blushed in memory.

"Oh?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath and swallowed her embarrassment. "You may have to remind me, from time to time, should my imagination or emotions run away with me; but I have a fair idea of what I am agreeing to - and what you would not allow to happen."

A small smile, far more hesitant and openly delighted than any she had ever seen from him before, lit his face. "You honor me, Lady."

"As you honor me, my lord," she smiled back.

He gave her elbow a slight shove. "I shall meet you in the pool. We don't want to waste the rest of the afternoon after riding out all this way."

Gilraen stepped behind her comforting bush and slowly removed her outer clothes. She hesitated for a moment, and then reached up to remove the pins from her hair and then shake out her braid. "Are you in?" she called.

"You may enter when ready," was the response.

She put the blanket within reach and then stepped into the heated water to walk over to where Glorfindel sat with his head turned away and eyes shut. She sat down and shifted until she found a comfortable spot on the rocks that lined the bottom of the pool. "Oh! That feels lovely."

His eyes opened and then widened when he saw her hair already down. "Lean back into my hand, and allow me to rinse your hair so that it can be soft later on," he urged, with the small and delighted smile back, lighting his features.

Gilraen obediently put her back to him and placed herself in his hands. "Will you tell me about her?" she asked softly, knowing she was stepping into delicate territory.

"Aye, and then you will tell me about Arathorn," he replied and supported her as she tipped back into the water. "The time is come to allow certain names to be spoken aloud again, has it not?"

She smiled broadly. She couldn't have put things better herself.

"I wish you could have met my Laernel," he continued thoughtfully. "I think the two of you could have been good friends."

"How did you meet her?" She closed her eyes as talented fingers massaged her scalp in the water.

"By accident, actually, if truth be told." he replied, pushing her erect again and then waiting for her to find a comfortable spot at his side before continuing. "She was the daughter of…"

oOoOo

Gilraen smiled as she passed through the gate and into the courtyard, and she shared the smile with Glorfindel. The answers to what was happening or what her Elven companion was thinking had proven a great relief, and the long discussion where they had shared their memories of their lost loves had cemented something very special between them. She had even managed to rise from the soaking pool and step from the water without reaching for her protective blanket, forcing herself to remember that he would not look on her in her transparent clothing with anything objectionable in mind; while Glorfindel had remained in the pool until she was out of sight before rising. Suddenly, accommodating both sets of sensibilities was so simple.

The easy camaraderie lasted through brushing down their mounts and turning them loose into the large pasture that stretched down the valley behind the stables. Glorfindel took up the empty picnic bundle to be returned to the kitchen, and the two of them were laughing and chatting quietly as they walked up to the House; only to stop short at the sight that met them. Erestor stood at the top of the stairs, his face stony and filled with a kind of fury Gilraen had never seen before. In his hands, he held two swords; one was Glorfindel's, with it's amber pommel-stone clearly visible. The second sword looked no less impressive or lethal, but was completely unfamiliar.

Glorfindel glanced down at Gilraen, his confusion plain. "What is amiss, old friend?"

"I had thought better of you," Erestor hissed, his grey eyes snapping angrily back and forth between the two of them. He tossed Glorfindel's sword down into the dust at the Elf's feet. "Pick it up, _orchuithor_."

Gilraen stared, unable to believe her ears; and next to her, she felt Glorfindel tense. "What did you call me?" the Balrog-slayer asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Gilraen was amazed, both at the foulness of the insult and the lack of heat in the response. Then she blushed, not at all pleased to have actually understood the word in the first place and astounded not only that Elves knew such language, but that stern, aloof and oh-so-proper Erestor was both capable of and willing to use it.

"You heard me." Erestor met him, glare for glare. "Despoiler of innocents, pick up your sword and prepare to defend yourself." He raised the blade of the other sword and shrugged away his dark robe to the ground, leaving him garbed in simple tunic and trousers.

"Stop it!" Gilraen shook her head. What was he doing? "Nothing has happened…" What did he _think_ had happened?

"Yet," Erestor added to her statement almost casually. "But I have been watching, and the time will come when…"

Glorfindel bent and retrieved his sword and stepped cautiously away from Gilraen. "You do not want to do this," he said coldly, his voice holding a whiplash of warning.

Elrond's chief councilor descended the steps one by one, also heading in a direction that put distance between himself and Gilraen. "Do not presume to tell me what I do or do not want," he spat. "For once, the excuse of differing cultures will not avail you."

The very air around the two Elf-lord had become charged with emotion, and Gilraen was glad when she saw one of the servants who had seen the exchange suddenly dart into the House. _I hope she is fetching Master Elrond! _

"The differences between my culture and yours have never been an _excuse_ for anything," Glorfindel growled, his steps cautious as he gave his sword a practice swing. "Except, perhaps, this madness that has overtaken you. Erestor, I do not wish to…"

Erestor was willing to wait no longer, but flew at Glorfindel with his sword flashing. The clear clang of metal striking metal rang out over the peace of the House. And then the two were circling each other, swords at the ready. "It is not enough that you leave a trail of broken hearts through the women of Imladris - any of whom would make you a fine wife - but now you must toy with the affections of one who would not understand our ways…"

Gilraen frowned. But she _did_ understand now… "Erestor…"

This time it was Glorfindel who flew at Erestor, and swords flashed and metal sang. If not for the look of intense concentration and anger on both faces, Gilraen could have mistaken the beauty and grace with which the two were clashing as a dance. The looks on the faces of those who had gathered at a safe distance to watch spoke volumes: all were shocked and dismayed.

The two combatants fell back again, still circling. "Who appointed you judge of my actions, Noldor?" Glorfindel growled. "You who sit amidst papers and the business of the realm and barely notice what happens beyond library doors? You know nothing…"

"I know nothing," Erestor tossed back in a mocking tone. "Everyone in Imladris with eyes to see can see what you are up to. Gilraen is not a toy!"

"I… Erestor… Glorfindel… Stop!" Gilraen's voice rose, her own ire soaring now.

"I do not treat her as one," Glorfindel snapped, then ducked unexpectedly and was only barely warded off by Erestor's flying blade. "You insult not only me, but you insult _her_ with your insinuations."

Erestor didn't allow Glorfindel to retreat, but followed him now, his sword flashing dangerously in the late afternoon sun. Gilraen watched in amazement as the otherwise serene and placid chief councilor and librarian for Elrond displayed a cunning and skill with his sword that quickly put Glorfindel - an acknowledged master with the blade - on the defensive. From the quick expression of surprise and dismay that flitted across Glorfindel's face, Gilraen realized that this was no sparring match, no practice bout; these Elves were serious, and it was possible that one of them would do serious harm to the other if something weren't done. As it was, a tear had already appeared on Glorfindel's shoulder, and a thin red line was slowly soaking into the suede.

_And they're fighting over _me_! Erestor seems to think that we have done something we weren't supposed to - as if Glorfindel, perhaps, seduced me? Does he honestly think that I would… And Glorfindel knows how much I hate…_

Suddenly, she was so furious at the both of them that she could no longer stand still. "STOP IT, THE BOTH OF YOU!" She launched herself forward the moment the swords stopped ringing constantly and put herself between the two Elves, a hand held out against either. "STOP IT!"

Silence fell like landslide, and she glared back and forth between shocked grey to startled blue. On either side of her, swords that had been raised to make another strike had frozen in mid-air and now trembled with the effort and strain that had been behind them.

"How _dare_ you!" Gilraen snapped, angrier than she'd been in a very long time. "How _dare_ you judge my actions, or whether or not I'm aware of what is going on?" she demanded of Erestor, whose face blanched until only two spots of color remained on either cheek. She whirled on Glorfindel. "And how dare _you_! You _know_ how much I hate to see people fighting - what it reminds me of." He too blanched, with a stricken look spreading across his features. "How…"

She didn't get a chance to finish, for very strong hands encircled her waist tightly and jerked her back against a very tall and hard body, and from there out from between the two previously battling Elves. She squeaked in alarm and turned, only to find that it was Elrond who held her, his face almost as stony and furious as Erestor's had been.

"I do not know how this came about, but you two will end this - _now_ - and there will be peace between you." There would be no arguing with the tone of the Master's voice, which made both of the armed Elf-lords flinch even as their swords slowly lowered. "And _you_ will come with _me_." Firmly tucked beneath a heavy and controlling arm, Gilraen was pulled up the steps and into the House before she realized she was moving, and then found herself having to trot to keep up with the pace those long, Elven legs set.

"_Foolish_ child! Had you no thought for your own safety?" Gilraen was grateful that Elrond had waited until they were in a corridor with no one else about before he turned his temper on her. "Do you not know that only thousands of years of skill and practice and warfare for both Erestor and Glorfindel prevented you from being sliced to pieces where you stood just now? You _never_ get between Elves doing battle! Surely you have been to the practice ring often enough by now to know better!"

As quickly as her temper had washed over her, now the realization of what she had done flooded her mind; and she nearly tripped. "But I…"

Elrond thrust her through the doorway to the private family parlor, slammed the door behind them, and then pointed at a chair with a long finger that shook. "Sit down!"

Gilraen swallowed hard and did exactly as she'd been told. This was an Elrond she had never seen before - never even seen hints of his existing before. His hold on her had not bruised, but it had left no doubt who was in control of the situation. Gone was the kind and gentle mentor, her _gwaedh-vellon _helping her raise her son; in his place, an outraged lord with a temper easily as daunting as her father's.

She folded her hands in her lap and watched him stalk to the sideboard, open it to withdraw a smaller cruet with a silver stopper and a tiny goblet, fill it with the amber liquid, and then toss it back in a single gulp. Head back, he closed his eyes and drew in a long breath; then, once he had exhaled, he put the cruet away and set the goblet on the sideboard - no doubt for servants to take away and wash later. Finally he turned to look at her, and at last she got a good look at the emotion that roiled behind that ancient gaze: fear. Not anger.

He took another deep breath and composed himself as best he could, then walked over to look down at her, making Gilraen definitely feel like a small child. "Tell me," he asked in a voice that still shook slightly, "how would you suggest I should have broken the news to our son that his mother had been killed by two of his teachers?"

Estel. She hadn't even thought of him when she'd stepped between Erestor and Glorfindel. If Elrond was right, and only Ages of experience with a sword had kept them from cutting her to pieces, Estel would have come home to… Her eyes widened.

Elrond nodded, satisfied evidently that he'd managed to get her to begin to understand his thoughts. "Estel would have had good reason never to trust either of them again, and his training would have been seriously compromised. And then there would be consequences of Erestor and Glorfindel both knowing that they had harmed you. Can you not imagine their pain?"

That was worse. Slowly Gilraen had been getting an appreciation of the benefits and drawbacks of an immortal memory; and now the knowledge that had anything happened to her, she would have sentenced both of her friends to an eternity of grief over their part in her demise took her breath away. No longer able to face the forced serenity in Elrond's face, she looked down and blinked hard against the tears. "I didn't think…"

"Exactly. You did not think."

Oh, having her father yelling at her, or even cuffing her, was infinitely easier to handle than the disappointment in Elrond's voice! Fat tears rolled down her cheeks; and had there been the smallest hole in the floor, she would have gladly slithered through it.

And then a long-fingered hand landed gently on her knee as Elrond knelt before her. "I would not have been in time to stop them, Gilraen. I have seen many things in my long years; but few of them have chilled me to the bone quite like coming through the door and seeing those two swords raised with you between them. For a moment, I believed you to be dead." He raised his hand to frame the side of her face and bring her gaze to him again. "Please do not attempt to frighten me into _Bannoth_ again in that manner."

"I'm sorry," she whispered earnestly and leaned into the ready shoulder.

oOoOo

Gilraen wrinkled her nose as she swiped the escaped tendril of hair out of her face yet again. She would be glad when she'd finished with the report, for she desperately needed to wash the nasty smell from her hair. But, determined to atone for her earlier actions, she had pushed through the evening mealtime and now had only a few more of the numbers from her wax tablets to translate into Elvish notation and write into her weekly report.

She glanced up as the flame from the nearby candle flickered to find Erestor, once more in his dark robes, standing next to her. "It seems I owe you an apology, Lady," he pronounced stiffly, the way in which the light from the flame illuminated the planes of his face only accentuating his brittleness. "I jumped to a conclusion without the benefit of all the facts, and as a consequence placed you in harm's way at my own hands."

"I moved into harm's way all on my own, Master Erestor," Gilraen replied with a sigh. "And for that, I owe _you_ an apology."

She saw a flicker of something in his eyes. "I hope Elrond informed you how dangerous it is to do what you did."

Gilraen looked away. "He made it very, very clear, I assure you."

"Then I accept your apology." Erestor bowed slightly, his right hand over his heart. "For my part, Glorfindel graciously took the time to fill me in on the details of your situation that I had been missing; and I now discover that not only did I seriously misjudge you and your naiveté, but _his_ actions stretching back over a very long time." His lips thinned. "I had allowed an old prejudice to poison my mind, and it nearly cost me not only an old friend, but a new one. I hope that someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

She put her quill into the inkwell and turned to face him more directly. "You have my forgiveness, Master Erestor…"

The dark head shook. "After this day, I think a simple Erestor would be more appropriate address, please."

"Erestor," she corrected herself, her eyebrows raised. "But I am a bit confused."

"Lady?"

"Why did you feel the need to react as you did?"

"Why," he repeated flatly, and again Gilraen saw something flicker in those almond-shaped grey eyes of his.

She nodded. "I would expect Elrond - or even Glorfindel - to defend my honor…"

"But not me." Erestor's voice had an odd tone to it. "Few do nowadays." He looked down at her and then shifted, moving both body and gaze away from her. "Suffice it to say that you sometimes remind me of someone… whom I have not seen for a very long time."

Gilraen reached out and laid a hand on his lower arm before he could entirely pull out of reach. "Expecting defense from Elrond or Glorfindel doesn't mean that I don't appreciate your concern as well, however. Please believe me."

The very edges of Erestor's lips twitched, as if he were fighting against a smile. "Thank you," he said softly and bowed again before turning around to leave.

Gilraen watched the dark shape move smoothly and silently back into the deeper shadows of the darkened library and then turned back to her report, determined not to allow herself to reflect on this brief glimpse behind the stoic mask Erestor normally presented to everyone. In but a few minutes, she had all the numbers carefully entered; and she was blotting the ink when the candle flame flickered again at another's approach. "Dare I approach, or am I still the target of your ire?" asked another familiar voice.

"I'm not angry anymore," she sighed as Glorfindel's white robes and shimmering golden hair moved into the small pool of light surrounding her work table.

"I should still beg your forgiveness. I knew how much you loathe being around sparring warriors; but I just could not bear to stand there and allow…"

"I know." She held up a restrictive hand. "I know. I understand. I will forgive you if you will forgive me my foolishness."

"We could have killed you." The rich voice shook, betraying the strength of the emotion behind the simple statement.

She hung her head. "I know that - now. But you didn't, and Elrond tells me I should thank the thousands of years of practice and warfare you both have faced for that grace. All I can say in my own defense is that I wasn't thinking clearly."

Glorfindel chuckled weakly. "None of us were, Míreth - not even Elrond, I suspect. It has been centuries since I have seen _that_ expression on his face." He moved behind her so that he could pull out her chair as she made to stand up. "Promise me you will never again put yourself so deeply at risk from my hand or any other's, and you may have my forgiveness freely."

"That I can promise you," Gilraen affirmed with conviction. "I never want to be that close to swords raised in anger again."

"Then all is well between us, and we start fresh. Come. You did not join us for the evening meal and you need to eat; and perhaps a walk in the garden after, to settle with a very taxing day?" A large hand cupped her elbow as she blew out the candle and put them in the dark. Suddenly she could see the soft glow from his skin that made him easily discernable in the utter darkness; and for a change, it only made her more aware of all of the other differences between them that would remain obstacles despite everything.

_My dearest friend and confidant - what did I do to deserve having you in my life? _"Thank you, but no. I need to deliver these reports to Master Elrond and then go to the baths to wash out my hair." She patted the hand at her elbow the moment they were through the library doors and into the dim lighting of the corridor. "I'm very tired, and I truly have no appetite."_ Not this night. Tonight I think I need to be alone._

"Then may the stars watch over you this night, Míreth _nîn_, and I will see you in the morning." Lips ghosted across her forehead, and the soft, white glow remained motionless and protective as she made her way down the long corridor. She would be relieved when she had handed in the reports so she could relax in a tub of hot water and think through everything that had happened over the last two days.

Light continued to spill from beneath Elrond's office door, and the deep voice that pronounced, "Enter," at the sound of her knock had a tone of fatigue about it.

"My reports," she offered in response to the silent, questioning tilt of expressive eyebrows from behind the piled-high desk. "They're overdue."

"You need not have missed a meal to rush them to me," he chided gently, putting down his quill. "I told you earlier that the household would survive another day without them."

"I know, but I wanted them finished. It was the least I could do."

Elrond leaned back in his chair and stretched out both his long arms over the desk. "And now that you have done so?"

Gilraen smiled at him. "A nice, long, hot bath to get the smell of hot springs from my hair and to relax. I may even decide to sleep in tomorrow morning."

"No walks in the garden?" Again the eyebrow canted.

"I don't think so," she answered with a shake of the head. "Not tonight. I have enough I want to think through without adding to it."

"Have you even spoken to either Erestor or Glorfindel?" he asked carefully.

She nodded. "Both, actually. In the library, while I was working."

His eyebrows rose, and then he smiled. "Good. And all is well, then?"

"I think so," she said around an involuntary yawn.

He rose and stretched out his back before coming from behind the desk. "Then I will wish the stars to watch over you, my dear. Take your bath and rest well. You look quite all in." He grasped her shoulders, deposited his usual kiss on her forehead. "I will most likely retire soon too, as the day was a difficult one for me too."

"I'm sorry…"

"Hey! None of that!" Elrond shook his head firmly. "When I told you that the possibility of misunderstandings existed with the _gwaedh-gwend_, I would never have dreamed that it would involve two of my master swordsmen having at each other, with you trying to get in the way and get yourself killed in the process." He smiled ruefully. "I am actually surprised you are not so completely overwhelmed with everything that came at you today that you had closeted yourself in your chambers and barred the door against us all."

Gilraen tipped her head up and gazed at her host. "I _am_ overwhelmed," she replied simply. "That's why no walks in the garden. I need time to think."

Slowly he nodded. "That is wise. Good evening, then, and may your thoughts bring you enlightenment."

"Thank you. May the stars guide your dreams on peaceful paths as well,"

Funny, but Elrond held the door of his office open almost the entire time it took for her to walk to the stairs that led down to the bathing rooms, lighting her way just that much more.

Enlightenment: she certainly needed some this night. But Gilraen was fairly certain it would be a long time before she felt enlightened about the Elves among whom she now made her home. It seemed the longer she lived with them, the more complicated things were getting.


	8. First Blood

In The House of Elrond VIII - First Blood

It wasn't often that Gilraen paced.

Worry was something that had rarely visited her days in Imladris to date, something that she suspected Master Elrond very deliberately protected her against under normal circumstances. When Estel had been younger, it had been quite easy, between the two of them, to handle all the small stresses and awkwardness involved in parenting a very intelligent, curious and headstrong young boy. Some of that youthful energy had later been channeled into weapons practice, and Glorfindel had then taken part in keeping her from worrying with his reports on Estel's progress.

But six months earlier, it had been decided that seventeen year old Estel was at last old enough and trained sufficiently to take regular duty rotations on the inner fences, and Gilraen had felt her worry levels slowly begin to rise. She knew the Elves looked upon her concerns with some indulgence, remembering how much she had objected to the mere mention of martial activity at first. She had forced herself to relax as Estel's abilities grew; he was, after all, going to have to be able to hold his own when he was grown. And in the eyes of Glorfindel and Elrond, she could see the pride in her son's accomplishments that she knew would have been equaled by the pride in Arathorn's eyes, had he lived.

But tonight, she paced in her rooms: Estel was a whole day late in returning from his regular week's rotation. She had seen, during the entertainment in the Hall of Fire, that even Elrond had been less than relaxed as well. When his fingers began following the lines of embroidery on his robe at his knees and thighs, she'd suspected the Master of the House to be anxious; and when he refused to meet her gaze for the entire evening, she was certain of it.

If there was one thing that comforted, in view of the lateness of Estel's return, however, it was that he had been accompanied by Glorfindel on this tour; and if anyone could keep her son safe from any harm, it was he. It had taken a confrontation between Glorfindel and Erestor, into which she had foolishly inserted herself, to demonstrate to her that the Elves really DID know how to use those weapons in a threatening and lethal way and still do no harm.

Once she had accepted that, and accepted that Estel's training - from the very first - would be second to none as the result of his never learning from another less skillful than a seasoned master, she convinced Elrohir to stand next to her as his brother and Glorfindel had sparred so he could tell her about what they were doing. It had, in the end, drawn her closer to Estel as well, for at long last she understood the language of swordplay and could begin to accept that part of his life.

But this day, even Elrohir's quiet "Lady, I am certain that nothing is amiss," during a lull in the music that evening had not helped as much as had been intended. She had nodded to him noncommittally and pricked her finger yet again in her distraction. That was the moment she had folded up her sewing for the evening and, with an awkward excuse to Elrond for her abruptness, retreated to her rooms.

To pace and worry in peace.

But she knew better than to expect the Elves to allow her to stew in peace when it was obvious to everyone that was exactly what she was going to be doing, and was halfway expecting the gentle tap on the closed doors when it came. She opened the door and stepped aside to allow the Master of the House entry.

"You know that this is probably…" he got out before she interrupted him.

"You are just as anxious as I am," she stated, softly enough that it wasn't so much an accusation as it was a simple declaration of fact.

His grey eyes held her gaze for a long and silent moment before he turned away and knelt to pull the protective screen from the hearth and added another small log to the fire. "Yes, I am," he admitted calmly after replacing the screen, brushing his hands together and rising. "But I do not let my anxiety control me."

"As I do?" Her eyebrows arched in challenge. Elrond cocked his head at her, something he usually did when faced with a question of that sort, and let his silence be his answer. Gilraen backed down almost immediately and moved toward one of the comfortable chairs, waving him into the other. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"You have no need to apologize. The truth is that I have had many centuries to learn the art of hiding my concerns from most people," he answered kindly as he took the seat she'd offered, "whereas you are just learning the need."

"But I should remember," she chided herself under her breath. "This is no more or less than what I felt when Arath…" Her eyes glanced up guiltily at her near-mistake. "…when others I loved weren't home on time."

He ignored her verbal stumble. "No doubt you chafed sorely even then."

Slowly she nodded. "I used to watch my mother and wonder how she did it. She would kiss my father farewell and then go about her days as if nothing were wrong, no matter how late he was in coming back. I'd ask, but she'd just look at me and tell me, 'Worry won't make the supper, or wash the clothes.' That didn't make any sense to me at the time."

Elrond relaxed back into the cushions of the chair. "But later…" he prompted.

"Once I had Estel, I could lose myself in the day to day tasks that wouldn't disappear just because my husband had. It would be nighttime, and I would be getting ready for bed, before I'd remember and start to worry." Guiltily, Gilraen glanced over at the small table where she had tossed her sewing for the evening. "I had forgotten that," she said with a sniff.

"I shall endeavor, then, to find you more tasks upon which to bend your mind and your attention; for you know as well as I do that you will be going through this again." Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "And, as you discovered long ago, keeping busy is one of the few truly dependable methods of moving through the worry. It is a method that I have employed for a very long time, and quite successfully too."

"It doesn't ever get better, does it." Her tone of voice asked for reassurance, but she knew better than to expect any this time.

Elrond's grey eyes gazed at her steadily. "Estel was only sent to the inner fences, not off to the wilds to hunt down and fight _yrch_ wherever and whenever they find them."

"Which only makes it worse! He should have been _safe_ staying within the inner fences, shouldn't he?" This time, she _was_ demanding comfort.

"I have detected no threats to Imladris," he replied, his gaze clearly aimed inward for a brief moment. "Which means that whatever the delay is, it is not great enough to threaten the rest of us."

"It isn't the rest of us I'm worried about. I'm safe here, in a house filled with Elven warriors with thousands of years of experience between them. Estel is out… there…" She gestured at her window. "…and we have no way of knowing what is keeping him. Did his horse throw him? Did he…"

"Gilraen." The way Elrond pronounced her voice silenced her and quelled the spiraling panic that had taken her. He leaned forward and grasped both her hands in one of his as they rested on the edge of her lap. "You cannot do this to yourself, for such thoughts over time become corrosive to the _faer_. This is the moment in which you must begin to trust in the training Glorfindel has been giving Estel for over half of his lifetime, and in Glorfindel's watch on him; but most importantly, you must begin to trust in Estel himself and in his abilities."

Her eyes filled. "But he's only seventeen…"

"And well within the protection of my warriors, and watched over by the most accomplished and skilled warrior I could possibly find," he interrupted her this time. "My dear, it is a sad fact that the moment our children begin to walk, we begin having to allow them to fall down from time to time. The older they get, the more dangerous the path they walk and the more potentially harmful their stumbles, especially when they are intending to be warriors." His face sobered, alarmingly so, and then he turned a stricken look on her that thoroughly surprised her. "Do you honestly think I have not already been through this myself, many times - or that I have forgotten what it is to not hear from my sons for days… weeks… years?" His brows folded and he turned away from her at last. "Decades?" he whispered.

That caught at Gilraen's attention. "Decades?" Instinctively, she turned her hands so that she was holding his large one between her two before he could retreat entirely. "They would stay away _that_ long?"

Elrond seemed startled to realize that she now was holding _his_ hand, and it took a few moments for him to regain his equilibrium. "They would only return when one or the other - or both - of them were too badly injured to trust to Mortal healers. When they arrived, the one injured would be unconscious - often only a few steps shy of death - and the healthy one, if one _was_ healthy, was uncommunicative. And as soon as I could affect healing, to the point that they could travel together once more with anything approaching ease, they would disappear again and leave me to wait, and wonder. And worry."

For all she was worried, she couldn't imagine Estel becoming that distant, that disconnected, that uncaring of how his actions affected others. She studied the large hand that had, strangely enough, remained within her keeping. Elrond's fingers were long, but the nails were much shorter and less fair than even her own, and the trim job they had last seen was obviously not a good one. "I can't imagine Estel doing something like that," she admitted finally.

"The drive for revenge can make some do things they would never have considered before," he replied softly. "Certainly my wife and I raised our sons to do better than that. But they were the ones to go out to search for her when she was taken; and finding her… like that…" His voice broke, bringing up her gaze, and she cringed at the grief she found there. "They believed what happened to her was their responsibility, no matter what I told them at the time or afterwards. Even Arwe…" He stopped, biting the word off before it was finished in much the same way _she_ had done when mentioning her husband – and almost looked as guilty as she had felt.

"Arwen?" she supplied gently. She nodded as his eyes widened in surprise. "I know you have - or had - a daughter too."

He closed his eyes and breathed out a long breath, but Gilraen couldn't tell if Elrond was upset, disappointed or relieved that she knew. "She lives with her grandparents in Lothlórien now; she could not bear Imladris without her mother." He opened his eyes again and the visible pain in them betrayed him. "She has been there for centuries."

Gilraen tightened her hold on his hand sympathetically. Yes, she could see that happening, and see how the virtual abandonment of his children had opened a hole in his heart that Estel had only barely begun to heal. _No wonder he's as worried as I am!_ "I didn't mean to pry - or learn things that I wasn't sup…"

"No." The hand turned in her grasp and now held hers again. "I am grateful that you know, so that I might mention her from time to time to you without…" He hesitated, again gathering his calm about him in much the same way he would gather his robes. "Even Arwen could not convince them that they had done all they could. Once Celebrían was gone to the Havens, all they could think of was returning hundred-fold what had been done to them… to her…"

She took herself and her emotions in hand, forcing herself to remember the topic at hand: that Estel's absence wasn't deliberate, and that Glorfindel was out there with him. Elrond, who seemed to always be very well informed about everything that touched the welfare of his realm or his people, had not sensed any danger. And their discussion had strayed into normally forbidden topics that had unexpectedly exposed his vulnerability: the tragedy of what had happened to his family so long ago.

It was easy to see that this tragedy continued to do him injury, even just in mentioning it, and she felt driven to protect this kind soul who had done so much to protect her. She needed to steer the discussion back on track - _now_! "And all of this because you came to keep me from worrying too much, and I asked too many questions," she offered with a sad smile. "I appreciate your candor - and that you would trust me with precious knowledge - don't get me wrong; but…"

Elrond's gentle smile warmed her despite its chagrin and open gratitude for the excuse to back away from painful topics. "But," he picked up her thought, "we were having this discussion in order to calm your fears, not add to them from my own. My apologies."

Gilraen found herself smiling back. She had quietly grown very fond of the gentle, personable Master of the House over the years she had spent in Imladris. "I think, Elrond, that this talk was more to share the fear evenly between us, as we have shared so much else regarding Estel, and in the process find comfort and support in each other. I know I wasn't the only one feeling the anxiety, so why should I be the only one to receive comfort or support?"

She'd surprised him, she could tell. His expressive eyes widened and then the corners crinkled ever so slightly as his smile grew. "So quickly you gain wisdom! I forget that you are no longer the frightened, lost waif barely old enough to be a mother who collapsed just inside my front door the moment she arrived here."

"Oh, I can still be quite lost," she chuckled, knowing just how often these ancient beings left her wondering just what was going on. "But I've learned that I don't have to be frightened by what I don't know, or remain completely helpless." She let her voice sober. "Estel isn't the only one who's been raised by the Elves these past years."

Again Elrond's smile grew, and he had just opened his mouth to answer her comment when a loud knock on her door made them both jump. "My Lady! Master Elrond! They are returned - Estel and Lord Glorfindel!"

The flare of excitement in the depths of his grey eyes easily matched the thrill and relief she felt race through her. Gilraen felt him adjust his hold on a single hand, taking it more firmly in his. "Shall we greet them properly, and discern why they found it necessary to delay their arrival?"

"Absolutely! You can interrogate Glorfindel, and Estel is _mine_," she answered with a firm nod as they mutually pulled each other to their feet. "Divide and subdue."

"A most excellent battle plan." She could hear the amusement in his voice. "Come then." And he led the way to the door and then down the hall, his long legs carrying him along at a pace that made Gilraen trot next to him. Down the stairs they went, hand in hand, and then across the foyer and out the front door.

The two of them had time, while waiting for the two horses to make it through the gate and across the courtyard, to gather their wits and share one more mutually supportive look between them. Then the swell of song that was in Glorfindel's rich bass, with Estel's quieter tenor descant, ceased as the riders passed through the gate and into the pool of light from flaming torches carried by servants. Gilraen studied the both of them closely and found them both fit, without a single sign of whatever had kept them.

"You are late," were Elrond's first words, "and several here were concerned." Then he smiled. "Welcome home!"

Glorfindel's face folded into resignation and chagrin, but Estel glowed. "We saw Mortals, Ada, and we helped them!" He slid from his mount and dashed the last few paces to embrace his mother and then accept a hug from his foster father.

Elrond's eyebrows rose, and he aimed a question at his Battle Master. "Mortals? Inside the outer fences? I had sensed nothing of this…"

"But not on the proper path to the valley, and quite out of commission by the time we found them," Glorfindel reported with an understanding nod. "A merchant and his daughter were traveling the Old Road toward the High Pass and took a wrong turn, and then their cart lost a wheel in the process of turning about again. The girl was thrown from the cart and injured in the incident. Estel and I assisted in getting them back on their way."

"Injured?" The worried father and demanding ruler suddenly became the compassionate Master of the Last Homely House. "Do we expect visitors soon, then?"

"It was a simple broken leg, Ada," Estel broke into Glorfindel's report. "While Glorfindel helped repair the cart, I splinted the leg and showed the girl how to make her own willow-bark tea for the pain."

"They were quite determined to continue on their way without detouring here, and I will be speaking to those on duty at the outer fences for not steering them around," Glorfindel stated in a terse grumble meant mostly for Elrond. "It does not bode well that these two were able to penetrate as far as they did without already being challenged. We were lucky that this lapse happened when those who entered were of benign intent."

Gilraen noted Elrond's somber nod and felt the hairs at the back of her neck rise. Mortals - and not even Dúnedain - inside the outer fences without challenge! "And what did you think of your first contact with Mortals, my son?" Elrond was asking now, and she brought her attention back to what was happening before her.

"Quiet and shy folk," was the assessment. "The girl was pretty too!"

"Estel was quite taken with her," Glorfindel commented dryly. "Her father, on the other hand, was less than pleased that an Elf was getting along so well with his one and only."

"Her name was Linn," Estel beamed, unaffected by his guardian's mood. "And she liked it when I sang to her to help with the pain."

Gilraen and Elrond exchanged another look. "Estel was seen as an Elf?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"Indeed." Glorfindel's nod was quite satisfied. "When wearing the leathers of Imladris, his face clean-shaven, his hair in our style and length, and without wearing the warrior braids of an archer to expose his ears, Estel could easily be taken as one of us, although his youth is unmistakable. This is as was intended, was it not?"

"There is no need for strangers to know that a Mortal has a place among the Imladhrim," Elrond replied firmly. "Not yet, anyway."

Gilraen gazed up at her son with new eyes. Yes, if one didn't know exactly what to look for - like the darkening of face and chin with whiskers needing a shave again that came upon him only later in an evening - Estel could be easily mistaken for a very young Elf warrior-in-training. Indeed, with her eyes freshly reminded to see as an uninitiated Mortal would, she was suddenly overcome with the close resemblance he bore to his foster father. Moreover, already he had nearly gained Arathorn's height, with nothing to show that he would stop there. Estel might never be as tall as his Elven foster family, but he would be nearly so when he'd gained his full growth.

"Come, Estel; we have yet to give our four-legged friends their freedom after carrying us for such a long way," Glorfindel grumbled good-naturedly. "And then, perhaps," the rich voice descended into solicitous whining, "the cooks could be convinced to unlock the larder for the two of us, who decided to travel on the little way further in the dark on empty stomachs rather than make anxious parents wait until daybreak for our arrival?"

Gilraen snorted at his attempt to act pitiful. "I am certain something can be arranged," she answered quickly and aimed a directing nod and frown at one of the kitchen helpers who had come out to witness the arrival. "It will be waiting for you when you come back to the house." She returned her gaze at her son. "And then I will hear everything about these Mortals - and of your time on the fences."

"Yes, Nana. C'mon, Glorfindel! I'm hungry!" Estel had his hand on the neck of his gelding, leading it off in the direction of the stables.

"All is well otherwise?" Elrond asked quickly and very quietly, so that Estel did not catch it. But Gilraen heard, and she hesitated to hear the answer.

Gilraen's disquiet eased as the golden Elf nodded, as did Elrond's, she noticed. "All is quiet, Elrond. This was but a lucky mishap for the Mortals, and an excellent first experience of Men for Estel. But I will give you my full report in the morning."

oOoOo

Gilraen closed the door to one guest room and smoothed her hand down her skirt as she walked toward the next. Elrond had been serious about giving her more tasks to keep her mind occupied. On top of responsibilities for maintaining the household inventories and servant schedules, he now wanted her to keep weekly track of the state of the linen supplies in the guest quarters, kitchens and the Healing Rooms, as well as work with the cook on a regular basis to plan out menus that kept the tastes and preferences of residents and guests alike - both expected and otherwise - in mind.

The new weekly tour of each stash of linens throughout the entire house was more physical activity than she had undertaken in all her time there; and as time went by, she had come to enjoy the hike from room to room, opening drawers and linen presses. The walking tour gave her a much fuller appreciation for the size and layout of the Last Homely House itself, a chance to pause and study the many pieces of artwork that so liberally decorated its corridors and rooms, and familiarity with many of the out-buildings considered as parts of the main dwelling. It rarely failed that by the time two such tours had been completed, she would have enough of a list of things that were needed to be replaced or repaired that she would have good reason to walk to the weaver's facility in another of the other out-buildings.

All in all, she had something to keep her busy and occupied for the better part of each day now in a manner that made her feel much more useful and contributing to the welfare of the community. And, as Elrond had hoped and she had anticipated, the press of things that needed doing chased most of her worries about Estel's gradually increasing duties to the welfare of Imladris to the late night hours, when she was alone and on the verge of sleep.

Another fact that aided in lending some measure of peace of mind was that Estel never went on his duty rotations without at least one person Elrond, and by extension, Gilraen, trusted implicitly with the young man's safety. At times it was Glorfindel himself, who quietly informed her that his attention to these inner defenses had strengthened them in ways they had not seen in decades. At other times, one or the other twin would be Estel's guardian and mentor. At such times, whichever one was going out with him would come to her rooms the night before to swear to her that he would return safely.

And so nearly a year had gone by, and now Imladris lay beneath a light dusting of snow. Winter was one time of year that Gilraen had never appreciated before moving to the Elven realm, but Imladris always seemed immune to the soul-numbing blizzard winds that would howl down the mountain valleys and ravines. The cold was never quite so sharp, the winds remained gentle, and the snows always light. The Elves would even haul water from the house out to spread over a portion of the inner courtyard over several nights until a smooth layer of ice lay where grass normally grew, and then they would don special boots equipped with a single metal blade that would allow them to slide effortlessly over the ice.

Elrond himself had ordered a set of such boots made for her several years earlier, and then spent many a laughter-filled afternoon with her clinging to his arm to keep from falling. In time, she had learned the trick to this "skating", and come to enjoy bundling up into warm clothing and spending a quiet, relaxing time with her son and his Elven mentors as they skated in a lazy circle around the ice. It never failed that someone would begin a song extolling the crystal clear skies and the warmth of the sun, and soon all floating over the ice sheet would be singing in full harmonies and with delicate descants.

As she walked back to her rooms, Gilraen took stock of the position of the sun in the clear sky outside the slightly fogged windows. It was well that her tour of the House was finished, for in the slower tempo that was winter life in Imladris, the afternoon was the time preferred for skating. Finishing the regular reports had kept her from joining in for the last two days, and she'd heard much complaining about her absence from Glorfindel the past two evenings. Today, she'd decided, she wouldn't miss, and he would have no reason to complain again.

She would miss Estel, though. Once more, he was off with Elrohir on his regular duty rotation and halfway through his week on the inner fences. She didn't begrudge his absence, however; she could see in the shine of his eyes when he would return that he was both glad and excited to finally be playing even this small part in keeping Imladris safe.

She slipped on the thick, woolen stockings that she had made for herself, and then stepped into the down-filled quilted linen pantaloons that would keep her warm and yet be hidden beneath her skirt. One of her warm, knit sweaters would be pulled over the top of the long-sleeved blouse, and her Elven cloak - a gift from Elrond which, he claimed, came from far-away Lothlórien - would top her ensemble. Skating in the crisp chill was one time when her differences with Elf-kind were most apparent, for _they_ never seemed to need to bundle up quite so much.

With her bladed boots hanging by tied laces over her shoulders, she walked out the inner doorway to discover, much to her surprise, the ice empty of skaters. She could hear, however, commotion that involved the sound of horses. She turned on her heel and ran back into the house and then out the front door, only to practically collide with a cloaked Elrond. "What is it?" she asked in curiosity, but when the Master of the House didn't respond immediately, she turned to gaze at him. The stony, intense look on his face was like a spear of ice into her heart. "Elrond? What is it?"

A clattering of hooves on the frozen courtyard brought her gaze up into Glorfindel's. He was geared for going out to battle in cold weather, and despite the glint of his armor beneath his cloak, he looked as serious and stern as she'd ever seen. More hooves clapped, more horses with well-armed and geared riders prepared to leave the shelter of the settlement with him, riders that included a very worried-looking Elladan. "I will send word the moment I know anything," Glorfindel said softly to the immobile Elrond on the porch, "I swear it."

"Be careful." Elrond's voice was more brittle than Gilraen had ever heard it. "May the _Belain_ speed your way."

Glorfindel nodded, and then shot a glance at Gilraen as he reined in his prancing stallion that both warmed her heart and chilled her spirit. It was a look very much like the one Arathorn had given her as he prepared to ride out with Elladan and Elrohir that last time upon receiving a report of a large company of orcs pressing close to their northern defenses. Glorfindel didn't speak a word, but wheeled his mount and led the way through the gates at a full canter.

"Come." A large hand surrounded her elbow and brought her attention back to her immediate surroundings. "Waiting in the cold will not get them there any faster, and you do not need to take a chill."

"What's going on," she asked in a more demanding tone this time. "Please…"

"We know nothing definitively as yet, but I…" He took a breath and gestured. "This would be better discussed in my office with the door shut."

Gilraen knew she'd get nothing out of him standing in the middle of the corridor, so she nodded and led the way down to his office and stepped inside. She turned at the sound of the door closing. "Now…"

"Sit down," Elrond interrupted her, gesturing at the chairs placed a comfortable distance from the small fire on the hearth. "Let me get you some wine. This is going to take a while, and the wait is going to be a long one."

"Wine will not make the news better," she said softly as she watched him pour out two generous goblets.

"That may well be," he replied with a disturbing calm, "but I fear we both will have need of the bracing spirit by the end of things."

She reached up and took the goblet from his hand and watched him seat himself in the other chair. "You're beginning to frighten me."

"I fear that is something I cannot prevent this time," Elrond sighed and settled back into the comfortable cushions, although Gilraen could sense a tenseness that was belied by his sprawl. "Earlier this afternoon, I sensed that all was not well on our eastern fences. This feeling has not diminished, but grown stronger over the course of the day."

"The… eastern… fences?" she repeated very slowly, her eyes growing huge. "Are you sure?"

He gazed at her evenly. "As certain as I can be, when such things come to me. It is why I have sent off Glorfindel, Elladan and a company of my best warriors; I will not allow the menace, if that is what it be, to draw any closer to Imladris itself. And I would provide support for those already in harm's way." He held her gaze with a flood of compassion. "Including Estel."

"Estel's posting is in the eastern quarter this time around." Gilraen knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that fully half of Elrond's disquiet was because he "sensed" that something was wrong with or near her - their - son.

"Yes." Elrond took a sip of his wine. "And Glorfindel will not arrive at his posting on the inner fence until nearly dark."

"Even at a canter?"

The dark head shook. "He cannot maintain that pace for the entire journey, for he must leave the beaten path and strike out across country. The ground is uneven, and it would be dangerous for both horse and rider."

Gilraen followed his lead and sipped at her wine, but her anxiety didn't allow her to remain quiescent. She rose to her feet and, cradling the goblet, she began to pace. She came to an abrupt stop in front of Elrond's chair. "Is he hurt?"

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "I cannot be certain. Elrohir is very upset; this is what communicates itself most clearly to me. Elladan sounded the alarm at almost the same time I… sensed…"

"What?"

He gazed at her for a while and then looked away. "Darkness. The Enemy."

"Here?" The very thought froze her in place. "He's found Estel…"

"We do not know that," Elrond snapped, although his voice held little sharpness. "It is entirely possible that these orcs finding a hole in our outer defenses near where Estel was posted happened entirely by accident."

"Orcs." Gilraen repeated the word numbly. Orcs had killed Arathorn, had killed far too many of her kin and comrades over the few years she'd lived at home. And now, they were threatening Estel. She slid weakly back into her chair, her eyes glued to his face. "There are orcs… on the inner fences?"

Again Elrond shifted his gaze. "That is the gist of what I was given. Most of the time, it is generally…" He sighed. "…correct, to one degree or another."

She covered her mouth with a hand as the utter horror of her young, innocent, unprepared son having to face… Her mind reeled, not wanting to imagine what these horrific-sounding beasts actually looked like. She'd heard descriptions, though, and they made her sick to her stomach.

"Gilraen."

She didn't hear him. Her mind had found the road back to those dark hours when the body of her husband, still warm, still bleeding into the cloak that covered his face, had lain on her table. Only now, her imagination was making the shape beneath the heavy cloth shorter, frailer…

"Gilraen!" His grip on her hand was tight enough now to hurt, and the pain drew her out of her horrified reverie where his voice alone had not. There was a glow in his grey eyes that quickly died back to an expression of deep concern. "You must believe me, I _know_ that Estel lives. I cannot explain it, but…" He loosened his grip and rose from where he had knelt next to her. "If Estel were dead, Elrohir would be more than merely upset; he would be beside himself with grief and anger. Trust me, I have felt those emotions from him before. He is merely upset, which means that things did not go the way he wanted them to, or perhaps Estel suffered some damage. But he is _alive_. I swear it."

She reached out to him, snagging his fingers and holding on as if to a lifeline before he could move any further away. "You're certain?"

He nodded slowly. "I would know if Estel passed beyond the circles of the world. All of those in whom I have had a closer hand in training, over the centuries, I have felt… step beyond. It is a gift… and a curse… of sharing the same blood. I would know, and," he sighed heavily. "I would tell you. Dishonesty would be unthinkable."

It wasn't a complete relief – that would only come when she could put her arms around her living, breathing son again – but the knowledge that he would _know_ if Estel were killed set aside the very worst of her fears. Gazing up at him, Gilraen finally felt the first of an entire storm of tears begin down her cheeks. Knowing him as she did now, and if he really could feel it if Estel were no more, she knew that he would be no less devastated by the loss than she would be.

Elrond's gaze softened. He bent to retrieve the forgotten and almost spilling goblet of wine from her senseless fingers and placed it next to his on a small table, then pulled on her hand to draw her to her feet again. Without a word, he pulled her to him and held her close. Gilraen leaned into his strength heavily and, at long last, spilled her sobs onto his shoulder.

oOoOo

"They should be here by now!" Gilraen exclaimed in frustration and impatience, striding to the door of Elrond's office for yet another time.

"They will be here when they can," he soothed with gentle patience for the next in a similar number of iterations. "It is only barely mid-day…"

"They would have left at dawn, wouldn't they?"

"Gilraen." Once more, the tone of his voice anchored her emotions so that they didn't spiral out of control. "You are exhausted. Can you not sit back down and try to…"

"I can't sleep! Every time I close my eyes, I see A…" Her eyes again flicked to his at her mistake.

Elrond sighed, put down the document he was reading, and faced her directly. "Estel is alive. He will ride into Imladris, not be borne here as was Arathorn to your village. You will not be burying your son, I swear this to you." Gilraen's eyebrows shot straight up as the Master of Imladris himself broke the rule he had set. "We will say his name this once, because we both know it has been foremost in your mind next to your son's."

"I'm sorry…"

"Trust me when I say that I know exactly how difficult this is."

"I know." And she did. All through the night, she had alternately railed at him, worried at him, or leaned into his arms and sobbed her heart out. Several times, she had been certain she had heard his breath catch as he held her. More than once, he'd shared how waiting while knowing one or both of his sons to be seriously injured had torn at him. Somehow, she had crossed a threshold of trust and confidence with him. Still, the expression in his eyes and the tone of his voice now bespoke the patience he was once more exercising at her expense. "You should tell me to sit down and be quiet so you can at least do _your_ work," she added finally with a rueful tone. "Sometimes you are more patient with me than I deserve."

The dark eyebrows of the Master of the house rose in surprise, and then he smiled at her. "Perhaps, when you are a little less… anxious, I shall remember and take your advice – mostly likely very much to your dismay."

Gilraen returned the smile, and then returned to her pacing. There was no way that she was going to be able to stay put in the chair before his desk, not even with that warm blanket he'd unearthed from somewhere tucked in securely around her again. She had rested beneath that blanket during the very late hours of the night, but she had not slept; and she knew just as surely that Elrond hadn't either. The hearth fire was built up so that the farthest window away from them both could be left open, in hopes that the sound of horses would carry to them long before a servant came to find them.

But it was the stir of voices near sunset, and the sound of running feet outside the office that finally brought the two of them out to demand an explanation, and finally to pick up skirts and robes and run as fast as they could to the front of the house. They had no more than emerged through the front door when the clatter of hooves of horses at a canter sounded just outside the gate. First through was Elrohir, his long hair flying behind him and his face grim. Next was Arthor, blood on his torn trousers that showed bandaging clearly, looking ready to fall from his mount.

Third and last through the gate was Estel. As Elrond had promised, he was very much alive, but his head sported blood-soaked bandaging, and one arm was caught up in a makeshift sling.

"Estel!" Gilraen shouted, but restrained herself at a pointed look from Elrond from dashing out into the courtyard.

"What happened? Tell me all!" the lord of the house demanded of his son as Elrohir slipped to the ground.

"A full patrol of _yrch_ evidently slipped through the outer fences while the captains were informing the men of the increased activity." Elrohir scowled. "Glorfindel has remained behind to 'instruct' the men on the proper way to hold troop meetings while at duty stations, and Elladan takes our place on the inner fences until the next duty rotation arrives."

"I should hope so!" Elrond's answering scowl bespoke of several warriors who would be receiving the sharp end of their lord's tongue when they rotated back to Imladris. "But…"

"But the training that those who man the inner fences have been getting paid off. Half of the patrol was down before they knew what hit them. The rest were dealt with in short order, with only minor injuries."

Gilraen watched with surging worry as Estel threw his leg over his mount and then slipped to the ground, knees nearly buckling.

"And you, my son. How badly…" Elrond began, trying not to seem to rush to the young man's side.

"Estel acquitted himself well, Father," Elrohir announced with a touch of pride. "Arthor had the bad luck to challenge the patrol leader, and had slipped. Estel tackled the orc after him and saved his friend's life."

"And paid for the honor of the kill, I see," Elrond commented dryly, lifting the bandage at Estel's forehead and then motioning for his assistants. "Take him to the Healing Rooms to await me."

Gilraen finally moved to take advantage of the opportunity to hurry to her son's unwounded side. "How badly are you hurt?" she asked him softly.

Estel shook his head very carefully. "Father will be worried about my head, no doubt, and it bled at lot. And I think my arm is broken." His voice was tight. "But I am well enough. I just never imagined…" He leaned on his mother and swallowed hard. "I never knew that blood could smell so… horrible… or what it felt like when my sword went into that orc's guts…"

Gilraen slowed and took a good look into Estel's face. His eyes were haunted. "Estel…"

"I got sick, Nana," he admitted and ducked his head as if wishing not to meet her gaze any longer. "When it was all over… all over Elrohir's shoes…"

"Each and every one of us who has ever killed_ yrch_ has done much the same," Elrohir stated in a tired and impatient voice from behind them. "It is a great responsibility that you take on when you become a warrior, Estel, for taking life is never an easy business."

Gilraen could feel the slight shudder Estel gave at the impersonal, almost calloused tone. "Come on, then," she urged him. "Your father wants you in the Healing Rooms, and I will not gainsay him in the least. You need your head looked to." She shot a glare at Elrohir for his unexpected lack of compassion and then busied herself with helping her son walk up the front steps.

This role she knew well. She'd nursed Arathorn - as well as Elladan and Elrohir once or twice - through injuries that had only kept them down for a little while.

"I am proud of you, Estel," she whispered gently, "so very proud of you."

Estel shuddered again and merely leaned on her a little more.

oOoOo

"Are you certain you should…" Gilraen looked from Estel to Glorfindel. "He's just barely healed…"

"He is on his feet, and he has earned this right," Glorfindel said kindly. "He is no longer a boy, practicing with a sword. He is a warrior full." He shifted his gaze from Estel's face to hers. "I have been honored to do this for many generations of Dúnedain. I am honored to be present this time as well."

"Did you do it for my father?" Estel asked brightly. Gilraen groaned to herself. Since his enforced respite began, Estel had been badgering anyone who would stand still long enough about details of his father's life. Elrond had been hastily consulted, and decided that some modest details about Arathorn could be imparted at last – although not his name nor his position among his people. Certainly his other sons could speak to his life as a warrior without mention of names.

"I did indeed," Glorfindel replied immediately. "And I dare say that he would have been very proud to see me giving you this same honor."

Estel grinned in satisfaction, while Gilraen felt her stomach twist just a little.

"Go on then; Elladan and Elrohir are waiting for you out behind the stables. Your father and I will be with you presently." Glorfindel waited until the young man had given his bow and left the room before speaking to her directly. "I know you wish to be there, but…"

"But I am not a warrior. I understand." Gilraen smiled sadly at him. "Many years ago, when first you took him to the training grounds, I knew this day would come."

"He has earned these braids, Míreth, and his bravery at the inner fences that day has not gone unnoticed among the other warriors here. The one who will do the actual braiding will be Arthor, who received _his_ braids at the same time as Valendil did." Glorfindel put out a hand and cupped her cheek. "He will not be harmed in this ritual, I swear it. Do you honestly think that Elrond would first heal his foster son only to turn around and do him a new mischief?"

No, he wouldn't. Elrond's worry and care for Estel had communicated itself very clearly over those first few days. Gilraen had been given a very clear view of just how much the Master of Imladris loved his foster son, as well as how seriously his foster brothers took their roles in his new life as an up and coming Imladhrim warrior. Elrohir in particular had been abject in offering his apologies for not having protected Estel better, once the uproar had died down, Estel had been stitched up, bandaged and then dosed into slumber.

Gilraen sighed and nodded. _This is just another step he takes away from me and toward his destiny._ _I cannot stop this, anymore than I can ask the sun to stop rising in the east._

Elrond stepped gracefully around her and paused. "You will wait here for our return, for there is a part of the ritual that requires your presence. After."

"As you wish, Master Elrond." She bowed her obedience and folded her hands at her waist.

Sharp grey eyes bored into her own, as if measuring what could be discerned there, and then the dark head nodded. "It is a hard lesson," he commented quietly. "And you will be the better for learning it sooner than later."

"I know." She straightened and faced him directly, her spirit calm. The Elves meant her son no harm, and Estel had proven that he could take care of himself in difficult situations. He was more ready for his destiny than she was. "Thank you," she said in a soft, yet firm voice.

Again she felt herself examined and found up to whatever had been sought, and Elrond turned away and joined Glorfindel in a brisk walk in the direction of the stables - and the woods beyond.

Gilraen let her eyes wander about the view that the front portico of the Last Homely House provided of the settlement grounds and the lands outside the protective walls. _He is almost grown, and I must prepare to let him go._ It had happened all too quickly, for had he not been a little boy of four, suspended between the tall forms of his foster brothers coming home from a fishing trip only a few days before?

It seemed impossible, but she had lived nearly half of her life in this beautiful and alien place. And as much as she had felt out of place and confused on that first day, she felt she belonged now. She had friends here now – and not just the master of the House and his sons, or Elrond's Battle Master or Chief Counselor. Maeniel had become more than just someone who handed her sewing projects, and she even had become friends with Aurin in the kitchen. She knew the names of all who served within the House, and the names of many of their family members.

This _was_ her home now. Wasn't it?

For the very first time, she let herself wonder about what would be her future when Elrond finally turned Estel over to the Dúnedain Rangers to finish training in _their_ ways. Would she stay here? No doubt Elrond wouldn't mind, nor would Glorfindel. And by staying here, she could resist the temptation to be an overbearing mother still trying to protect her son from the dangers of being a Ranger in training. Or would she go back to her people, to her village – return to a place where she wasn't confounded by complexity every time she turned around?

There was movement from the back corner of the stables, and soon Elrond came into view, his arm looped around Estel's shoulders, with Glorfindel, Arthor, Elladan and Elrohir following behind. Was that a new sword that hung at his side? And how handsome her son looked with those braids tipped with golden beads – so like his foster-brothers' braids that he'd played with endlessly as a small child! Estel's face shone with pride and accomplishment, although she didn't want to think about what those marks on the backs of his hands were, where there had been no injury before. Was that blood?

She swallowed the tears that suddenly threatened at the sight of a young man who, except for height and bulk, reminded her all too much of another man, lost to her long ago.

"Behold, Lady. I give you your son, who is become a blooded and true warrior," Elrond intoned solemnly as the party came to a halt in front of her.

Yes, that _was_ blood on the backs of his hands. What had Elrohir said, just a few short weeks ago? That taking life was a responsibility? She found herself wondering if part of the ritual he had just undergone was to etch that lesson firmly in his mind.

"I am proud of him," Gilraen returned around the lump in her throat. "So very proud."

And, despite everything, she was.

FIN


	9. Disclosures

The traditional mid-spring festivities in the Hall of Fire were exuberant, courtesy of a unexpected visiting party from Lothlórien, as well as the many warriors who had returned from their regular rotations on the outer fences without a single injury to report. Elves of all descriptions filled the hall: some danced to the catchy tune that Lindir and his fellow musicians were playing over in the corner; Glorfindel had been collared by others – including a number from the Lothlórien contingent, and was now very animatedly telling a story that had his listeners chortling; and still others hovered near a sideboard that was filled with dainties and juices and wine.

Elrohir and Elladan both had taken Gilraen aside before supper and sung her son's praises to her: he was very responsible, had performed admirably at watch, and distinguished himself nicely in a small skirmish with a small company of orcs that had made the fatal mistake of passing too close to the outpost. Gilraen smiled, happy as usual to know that Estel had returned once more safe and sound from the more dangerous posting on the outer fences that he now called his own among the Imladhrim, and cast her eyes about the large room for her son. But nowhere amongst all the celebrants did she see Estel.

With his usual, placid expression that was given lie to by the way his eyes danced in amusement, Erestor brought Gilraen a goblet of wine. "You are not dancing?" he asked quietly. "Is something amiss – or is it merely that Glorfindel is occupied for a change?"

She chose to ignore the subtle dig; her relationship with Glorfindel was a quiet point of disagreement between her and Erestor, as the Chief Counselor was constantly warning her against relying too much on the golden warrior's company. "I don't see Estel," she replied, craning her neck as if that would help her see through the twisting, whirling, swaying Elves that managed somehow to make the Hall of Fire seem almost crowded.

"He is with Master Elrond," Erestor said with a shrug, allowing his gaze to wander over the crowd finally. "I saw Elrond leading Estel back in the direction of his office some time ago."

"Oh." She allowed her voice to sound merely disappointed, but Gilraen felt a shot of alarm. It wasn't normal for Elrond to take anyone back into his office – especially during a festival – unless that person had done something very wrong or extraordinarily right. And while the twins had been lavish with their praise of Estel's actions on the fences, she hadn't thought it deserving of either reproof or extra honor.

A hand landed very gently on her shoulder, and she blinked to see that it was a concerned Erestor, who very rarely ever touched her for any reason. "I would not worry," he soothed. "Elrond looked very pleased as he was walking with Estel, so I am certain that there is little to be concerned about. In fact…" He reclaimed the goblet he had handed her before she had had a chance to do more than sip at it, and placed it on the nearby sideboard. "I do not believe I have had the honor of dancing with you of late. Will you join me, and allow the music to wash away your cares for a little while?"

Again, she had to blink. Erestor was not known for participating in the dancing very often, as he tended to prefer to listen to the music in a corner with his eyes closed and a toe waving in time to the rhythm. But Erestor this night seemed much lighter of heart than normal. "You seem different," Gilraen commented as she placed her hand in his, her agreement implicit.

"It is the festival, as well as the return of loved ones from distant places," he answered enigmatically as he pulled her into the circle of dancing couples. Then, with his hands at her waist, he lifted her from her feet with effortless ease and swung her into the music.

She waited until he had her feet back on the floor. "Anyone I should know about?" she managed before the up-swell of music had her in the air again.

"Perhaps," Erestor replied, not even breathing hard from the exertion of lifting her bodily into the air over his head over and over again, "but it is not my place to be making introductions." He deposited her back on her feet as lightly as if she had been a feather. "I am certain Master Elrond will take care of the formalities in all due time." He bent to her, the movement part of the dance, but making it possible to speak very privately. "It is mid-spring, Gilraen. The woods are green, the fields are growing apace, the fawns and lambs graze at their mother's sides. Relax and enjoy the festival, or I shall have to retire to my usual corner and pout."

Were it not for the mischievous twinkle in his ancient, grey eyes, Gilraen might have mistaken his whisper for seriousness; but instead she found herself chuckling in spite of everything. This side of Elrond's Counselor was indeed a rare sight to see. "I concede," she said, putting her hands up to his shoulders in preparation for being swung up high into the air again, "if only because seeing you lose the smile and the light on your face would be a shame."

"It is satisfying to know that at least one person around here appreciates it when I make an effort," he grumbled even as he grinned back at her. "Now, do me a favor and laugh for me while we are on this side of the Hall, so that Glorfindel hears and wonders what it is we speak of to have you so merry. I get so few chances to tweak that man's tail, I must take advantage of ever opportunity." And then she was hoisted into the air again.

The thought that Erestor might actually be trying to make Glorfindel jealous struck her as hilarious, and she threw her head back and laughed loud and long, regardless of the reason he'd wanted her to. "You are an imp tonight!" she declared as she descended again.

"Why, thank you, my lady." Erestor twirled her just in time to see that Glorfindel's eyes were now fixed on the two of them over the top of the heads of those who had gathered around him, and that there was a quiet light in their depths.

"It worked," she told him as he lifted her yet again. "You – or, I should say, _we_ – have his complete attention."

For the first time since she had met him, Erestor let a bubble of completely carefree laughter escape him, filling her ears with merriment. "So I saw. I do thank you, little one, for your cooperation. From the looks of his hangers-on, the telling of his tales has lagged somewhat."

She blinked. "Little one?" That was something she had heard all too often in reference to Estel, not _her._

"Humor an old Elf, will you?"

Oh, when Erestor smiled like that, Gilraen found it hard to deny him! Where had this good-natured, fun-loving Elf been hiding all this time? "Very well, for tonight only, then, and only because you _are_ just a little bit older than I am."

For her troubles, she was given another round of carefree, uplifting laughter from her dance partner even as he lifted her into the air again to fly with the music.

oOoOo

She had barely put a small bunch of nuts and a wedge of cheese on her plate when her elbow was very capably commandeered by a huge hand. "And what were you and Erestor talking about that had you laughing so hard?"

"Do you want some of the nut bread as well?" she asked Glorfindel as if he had been at her side all along.

"Míreth…"

"He said that he had so very few opportunities to – how was it he put it? – 'tweak that man's tail' that he didn't want to miss an opportunity." She grinned up into a face that was surprisingly missing any of the jealousy that Erestor had sought to put there. "His playing a trick on you was such a funny idea that I couldn't help myself. Imagine: Erestor, a troublemaker!"

"It is as I thought, then. Good!" Glorfindel added two slices of the nut bread to the plate and then captured two goblets of wine for them. He gestured toward the open door, and the garden beyond. "I noticed that he was in a better mood than usual, and I suspected that he had invited your collaboration in some form of mischief. "

"You knew!" The idea was shocking. "And you played along?"

"Well," he hedged, leading them further into the garden, toward a favorite alcove that they habitually frequented when the weather was cooperative, "seeing Erestor allowing himself to genuinely have a good time does not happen often enough. I suspected he was toying with me, and so I gave him what he wanted – I hope."

"Oh, he was positively bubbling," Gilraen assured him and then took her customary seat at his side. "It was such a change from his normal behavior." She put the plate on the seat between them and took the goblet he offered her. "He said that his mood was the result of the festival, and of loved ones returned."

Glorfindel smiled softly. "Yes, that would have something to do with it."

"He wouldn't tell me _who_ had returned, though."

"I am not surprised. The introductions are, after all, Elrond's to make."

"That's exactly what Erestor said!"

"It is the truth."

Gilraen glowered at him half-heartedly. "I should know better than to ask questions of Elves, because I never get a straight answer."

"Most of the answer you seek will be only a short while coming," Glorfindel chuckled softly, "and from the person it should come _from_ as well. Elves need not give straight answers when such answers are forthcoming anyway." He shrugged at her glare. "It is our way."

"It's _frustrating_!"

His chuckle grew into soft laughter. "Only for those who are impatient." His hand touched her hair. "Peace, Míreth. Let us enjoy the evening, and the delicious repast we brought with us, and the stars." He turned his face up. "Eärendil shines most brightly tonight. The breezes are mild…"

The pounding of footsteps, a sound not often heard in the gardens of Imladris, made both of them look around just in time to see a slender figure dart into the trees at the very edge of the garden. "Who was that?" Gilraen asked, knowing her companion would have been able to see through the half-gloom so much better than she can.

"Estel." Glorfindel sounded thoughtful. "He did not look at all happy."

"Perhaps I should…" Gilraen began to rise.

Glorfindel's hand on her shoulder kept her from completing the move. "Leave him be. Whatever it is, he needs to learn to handle things for himself. Once he is returned to your people, he will not be able to expect your gentle cushioning of all his blows, you know."

Gilraen glanced up at him sharply. "'Once he is returned…' What are you saying?"

The ancient grey eyes gazed at her calmly. "Only that the time is rapidly approaching that Estel will want to reclaim his place among the Dúnedain. You already know this, Míreth…"

"But not yet…" she began.

"Your son has already reached his majority of twenty years, according to Dúnedain tradition, has he not?" Glorfindel asked implacably.

"Yes, but…"

"Then you should realize that the day he returns to them is near at hand, should you not?"

Gilraen subsided some, clenching her hands in her lap nervously. "I suppose." She looked up at him again. "But he would tell me… Elrond… he would warn me before he said anything… Wouldn't he?" She shook her head. "Of course he would. He'd know that I'd want to be ready to handle any questions Estel will have…"

Glorfindel's arm wrapped around Gilraen's shoulder and pulled her close to lean into him without saying a word. She leaned hard into his shoulder, suddenly no longer certain what the immediate future would hold for her _or_ her son.

Hopefully Elrond would put in an appearance soon enough to ask about their son's upset.

oOoOo

Her hair was down, she was in her sleeping gown, and sitting on the very edge of her bed arranging the blankets just the way she liked them when the knock came on her door. Frowning, as she knew that most of the residents of the House tonight were tired from their lengthy celebrations, she pulled up the top blanket to wrap around herself before walking through to answer the door.

"Elrond!" She gazed at the Master of the House in consternation. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, and no," he replied with a wry expression, then gestured. "Might I come in for a moment."

"Of course." She stood aside while he brushed past her, heading immediately for one of the chairs before her well-banked hearth. She moved to the fire, claiming a slip of bark to carry the flame to some of the candles about the room before blowing out her light and settling into the other chair. As an afterthought, she wrapped the blanket about her tightly against the creeping chill, wishing she'd thought to throw another log on.

"Did I awaken you? I apologize…" Elrond began, almost rising.

"No, I was but getting ready to retire." She folded her hands in her lap. Perhaps Glorfindel and Erestor were right: Elrond would tell her all she needed to know in the near future. "What can I do for you?"

"You can forgive me."

Gilraen stared as Elrond melted back into the comfortable cushions with a distressed look on his face. "What on earth for?" she asked softly, suddenly not eager at all to hear what he had to say for fear it was what she dreaded.

"You know I spoke to Estel this evening?"

She nodded.

"I had planned to speak to you beforehand, to let you know of my intentions in time for you to… prepare for what might come…" He sighed. "And then the party from Lothlórien arrived, and I lost track…"

"Elrond, what is it?" Her heart was in her throat, pounding hard. "What has happened?"

"When Elladan and Elrohir reported on Estel's bravery and deeds on the fences this rotation, I knew that the time had come for him to be made aware…"

"Elbereth!" Gilraen breathed. It was as she had feared. "You told him?" She closed her eyes as he nodded slowly. "All of it?"

"Most of it; some will naturally have to come from you, as you knew his father long after Arathorn had left my tutelage." He rested his head tiredly on a hand propped on the arm of the chair. "Unfortunately, the interview did not go as well as I had hoped."

Her eyes popped open. "No?"

"No. Instead of being pleased that he was finally being told everything about the father that he has pestered everyone here endlessly about, he behaved as if I had betrayed him deeply by keeping this from him." Elrond pinched the top of his nose, a gesture that Gilraen knew was his way of showing fatigue or frustration. "I have no idea where he went when he left me…"

"Glorfindel and I saw him head off into the brush beyond the gardens," Gilraen supplied automatically. "I think Glorfindel knew what was happening."

"He did," Elrond admitted. "I discussed my intentions with him earlier this morning, before the party from Lothlórien arrived. It was Glorfindel's recommendation that I not keep Estel in the dark about his heritage any longer than necessary anymore." He gazed at Gilraen. "He has reached his majority, has learned all of the lessons that I and my people have to teach him, and the time approaches for him to return to his people to meet them, learn _their_ ways before the press of duty and the endless struggle becomes burdensome."

"You should have warned me," Gilraen said flatly. "At least then I could have gone after him…"

Elrond shook his head. "I doubt he would have heard anything you had to say, for he as much as accused you of conspiring with me and with all the others to keep this information from him. He was most bitter with all of us before we parted ways."

"Are you really that surprised?" Gilraen was astonished at him. "He has spoken of nothing else to me of late but his pride in finally being accepted as one of the Imladhrim, of taking his place on the line that keeps the defenses of this place strong. You just stole his most precious dream from him."

"He had not spoken to me of this," he blinked, nonplussed. "Had I known…"

"Would it have changed your decision?" she asked bluntly.

"No." Not surprisingly, he returned bluntness for bluntness. "However, I might have gone about my explanation in a different manner had I known."

Gilraen took a deep sigh and rested her chin in the palm of her hand as she stared into the tiny fringe of flame that still licked at the last log on the grate. "I suppose I should thank you for at least telling me _now_, before Estel barges in on me in the morning with a thousand questions and his accusations of complicity."

"I should have told you long before this, I know, and for that I am most deeply sorry." If he had only been more accepting of his own failing, more at ease with his actions, she could have maintained a fair head of anger at him, and perhaps even gotten away with scolding him for once. The idea that he would take such a huge step in Estel's life without consulting her was infuriating on the surface. But he looked so forlorn about both his lapse and the discussion with Estel, so ill at ease with matters as they sat, she knew her castigation could be no worse than what he'd already done to himself.

"So tell me," she said after a long moment of silence where both of them gathered their wits, "what was it about the party from Lothlórien that so disrupted your plans that you forgot entirely to talk to me before turning Estel's world upside-down?"

At last she had a reaction from him other than morose guilt! "I will have to introduce you in the morning," he said, a hint of a soft smile unlike any she'd seen before hovering over his lips. "My daughter has returned home."

"Arwen? Here?" Gilraen gaped, and immediately forgave Elrond his lapse. He had suffered from his daughter's absence greatly; to think that such a huge piece of his heart had walked through his front door unexpectedly certainly explained how and why his intentions had gone astray. "I'm glad for you," she offered finally, quite sincere. "She is home to stay?"

"I know not as yet. We have not spoken of this. By the time I finished speaking with Estel, Erestor said that she had gone for a walk beyond the gardens. I shall look in on her before retiring, I suppose…"

"I will begin to gather all the household accounts and ledgers, so that if she _is_ staying…"

"No." Elrond shook his head firmly. "I will not displace you merely because Arwen has returned. You have made the responsibilities of lady of the House your own, and such disregard would not be fair to you. Let us wait until we know more of her intent before…" He sagged in the chair, his brief happiness fading like a dying ember on a bare stone flag.

"Elrond?"

The grey eyes that gazed into hers were filled with pain. "I may have regained my daughter for a time, Gilraen, but I fear I have lost my youngest son. He would not even call me 'Adar' when he begged permission to leave me; he called me 'Master Elrond', as if he were not a part of the family any longer."

In a way, Gilraen could understand Estel's rejection of his foster-father, and yet she could also see how it only served to wound an already wounded soul. "He will come around. You know Estel: his anger burns hot for a few hours, and then he mopes and pouts and stays to himself for a longer while, and then finally he comes back to see if the world has truly been turned on its ear."

Slowly he nodded. "That has been the way of things before now," he admitted.

"And it will be the way of things again. Come now," she rose and stretched out a hand to him. "You have a daughter to check up on, and you should do so with something other than regret and despair in your eyes. We will deal with Estel in the morning, you and I."

He put his hand in hers and allowed her to pull him to his feet. "I expected you to be much less understanding," he said softly. "I seem to be misjudging everyone this day."

"I _am_ angry that you didn't warn me," Gilraen assured him. "By taking this step without discussing it with me first, you broke the rules by which we agreed to raise Estel together with a unified front." She felt a small thrill of satisfaction at seeing those ancient grey eyes grow large and round. "But I know that making you feel worse about it than you already do will accomplish nothing. Estel will still be in his ill humor, and the news about his heritage will still be open knowledge. He will no doubt come at me with his questions and his temper tomorrow, whether I make you feel worse or no."

She gazed at him levelly. "I may be selfish when it comes to my son, but I am not cruel. For all the kindness and protection that you have provided for me and Estel for lo these many years, you are allowed to be mistaken at least once." She straightened. "It will not happen again, I take it."

"I deserved that." It seemed he couldn't help the smile that was now peeking through the dismay. "And no, it will _not_ happen again. You have my word."

"Then I will bid you a good night, and wish you well of your reunion with Arwen."

Elrond reached out to her and gathered her close for a brief moment. "Thank you," he whispered into her ear and kissed her cheek before releasing her and leaving her staring at the closed door.

One by one Gilraen extinguished the candles she had lit, her heart sinking with each one. Yes, she would deal with Estel in the morning, but she didn't look forward to it in the least.

oOoOo

As it was, Gilraen had barely arisen and made her morning ablutions when a sharp knock rattled the door in its frame, and then Estel burst into her suite. She quickly drew on her under-blouse and under-skirt and met him in the doorway to her bedchamber. "Good morning, Estel," she said carefully.

"That's not my name, and you know it," he grumbled and flounced into the room to park himself against the wall near the window.

"It's the name that Elrond and I agreed to call you when we first came here," she replied, deliberately not allowing her tone to be anything but calm and even. "Elrond feared your discovery more than anything else."

"That's what he told me too," Estel said archly and then glared at her. "He also said that _I_ was the one who started calling him my _Adar_ – that he had no part in that."

"That is true as well." How well Gilraen remembered the day when her little son had turned from her to his new role model and given away the name that belonged to someone else. It was a heartache that she'd learned to live with, despite herself. "I had to decide, in that moment, if I was going to let you grow up having a father, or force you into a foster relationship when you were too young to understand the difference."

"Do you love him?"

Gilraen blinked. Did he just ask her what she thought he…

"Elrond, I mean," Estel added, evidently reading her confusion. "Is that why you never said anything? My father was dead, and Elrond wasn't, so…"

"My first and only real true love is now and always has been your father, Arathorn, and my relationship with your _Adar_ is not the issue, is it?" she again forced herself to an even tone. "Just so you know, however, I _am_ fond of him, yes, because of everything that he's done for the two of us over the years, and because he loves you dearly."

"But He's. Not. My. Father!" Estel ground out, almost as if the words were painful.

"You've always known that…" she began.

He waved a hand as if dismissing what she said. "And all my life here has been a lie. I'm not just the son of some nameless but brave Dúnedain Ranger who was brought here and raised by the lord of the House out of the goodness of his heart. No! I'm the next Chieftain of the Dúnedain – he gave me this ring in token of my position," he thrust out his right hand, on which the ring of Barahir gleamed as if newly-made, "and I've never even met a single one of these people I'm supposed to lead…"

"It was necessary," Gilraen said again. "The Enemy was closing in on us, on our village and our people. In order that the Enemy have no idea where you were or if you still lived, you had to appear to have vanished. All but a very few…"

"Were told that I died of sickness, I know. _He_ told me." Estel threw himself away from the window and began pacing. "_Ad_… Master Elrond tells me that soon I will have to leave here and go live with the Dúnedain to learn their ways." He stopped looked at her with eyes that burned with both betrayal and anger. "All I ever wanted – and you knew this – was to be the best Imladhrim on the fences as I could be, so I could serve…" Tears that were definitely not welcome swam. "I was just finally starting to feel as if I belonged…"

Gilraen closed the distance and put a hand up to his cheek. _When did he get so tall?_ "Our people have been patiently waiting for you to learn all that you could here, with the Elves. Even Elrond says that there is little more for you to learn here."

He hunched slightly and pressed against her palm. "Maybe not to learn, but my life is _here_. This is my _home_! I don't want to leave."

"Estel…"

He jerked away from her. "That's. _Not._ My. Name!"

"Aragorn..." she amended, hoping to reach behind his emotions and touch his reason, "nothing has changed all that much. You are still my son, and you still will ride out with the rest of the Imladhrim when your duty rotation comes up until your _adar_ says otherwise. All that has changed is that you finally have all the pieces of the story of how you came to be here." She patted the cheek gently. "You should be pleased; this is what you have been bothering everyone here about for the better part of a year and a half to tell you."

"I don't know _what _to believe anymore."

"Believe this, then, if you can believe nothing else." She closed the distance between them again and grasped one of his hands in hers. "You are well-loved, and you were well-loved by the man who sired you. Your safety was important enough to your grandfather, and the other leaders of the Dúnedain in our village, that you were sent here to grow up strong and free, and to learn all that the Elves had to teach you. Your name here was no accident, for you have been and are the _estel_ – the hope – of many, including Elrond himself. Your fate may not be to remain here, in Imladris, but it will always be your home."

"But…"

"Elrond will always be an _adar_ to you, because he has been your _adar_ in all the ways that matter save one, and he told you of your true heritage because he realized that you had done all that he had ever hoped for you to achieve while living as his son. He loves you, Estel, very much; I know this with the same certainty that I know my own name."

The tears that had been swimming had dropped to pale cheeks, but Estel moved away too fast for Gilraen to be able to wipe them away for him. With the same kind of rushing gait that she had seen often from the Elves, and even Arathorn long ago, he headed straight for her door and vanished without another word.

Gilraen stared at the closed door for a long moment before heading back toward her bed chamber and the rest of the day's garb, which included a warmer shawl to go over the under-blouse and bodice. Today was her day to consult with Aurin on the menu for the next few days' meals, which inevitably meant a trek into the underground pantry where supplies were kept at a cool temperature.

And sometime today, if Elrond kept his word, she would be meeting the _real_ Lady of Imladris. This was not a day to encounter unprepared.

But her hands still shook.

oOoOo

Arwen was as lovely and charming as Gilraen could have expected from a child of Elrond. Gilraen was certain that Arwen had gone out of her way to be gracious and kind, but had nonetheless felt relieved to hear that Arwen had no intention of taking over her duties to the household. It seemed that Arwen had taken on that role for her grandparents, and was thoroughly enjoying a true respite from the responsibilities. Over lunch, and with her father and brothers listening on, she related several details about the way her mother had managed things long ago. The suggestions were so imminently practical that Gilraen was determined to put them into practice herself.

Evenings in the Hall of Fire became adventures in entertainment, for no one could predict exactly the direction things would take on any specific day. Elladan and Elrohir were in high spirits with their sister returned to them, and Gilraen had to chuckle at the number of times that Elrond rolled his eyes in good-natured indulgence of their antics. The twins took every opportunity to tease their sister, who was just as willing to turn the tables on them and sit back to laugh at them.

Stories were a pleasant mixture of new and old, for the storyteller was as likely to be one of the Lothlórien party – or Arwen herself – telling stories from that far-away land as it was to be Erestor or Elrond. The music was still sublime, but definitely more suited to dancing than simply sitting and listening. Gilraen was startled by but quickly grew used to Glorfindel parking himself at her side as she would attend to her mending and the narrative of the evening's storyteller.

On the fourth evening, after having been only barely social enough to dart into the dining hall for meals and sullen attendance at what few lessons Erestor or Glorfindel could contrive, Estel made an appearance in the Hall of Fire. He nodded seriously to Gilraen the moment he saw that she'd noticed him, took up a goblet of wine, and then sought out a quiet and semi-hidden alcove to haunt. Gilraen caught Elrond's eye and led his gaze to the draperies and the lanky legs that were all that could be seen of their son, then saw Elrond's smile grow soft and his eyes glow his gratitude. It was as she had predicted: Estel was slowly coming back to see if his world, while skewed, was still otherwise intact.

When Glorfindel seated himself next to her, she quietly told him what had happened, and then leaned gratefully into the shoulder of the arm that wrapped itself about her shoulder. Gilraen saw Arwen's eyebrows soar at the sight, but then her father leaned over and spoke softly to her for a few moments; when next she looked back across the room, she had a soft smile on her face.

Still, she was not surprised when there was a soft knock on her door not long after she had retired for the evening. "Estel," she said carefully and stood back to let him enter.

"I came to apologize," he said, not quite scuffing his toe against the rug in front of the hearth the way he had done as a small boy caught out in a mischief. "I said some things that were…"

"You were upset," Gilraen closed the door and gestured for him to sit down. "When Elrond told me that he had spoken to you, I knew to expect something like that." She sat down across from him. "I'm glad we're speaking normally again."

"Do you… Do you think _Adar_ is angry at me?"

She smiled softly. "No, I'm fairly certain he's not upset with you. He knows your ways of handling upsets as well as I do. And he saw you at the Hall of Fire tonight, so he knows that you are well on your way to recovering." She gazed at him evenly, growing concerned when he didn't lift his head to meet her eyes. "Estel? Is anything wrong – other than what we discussed earlier, that is?"

"No," he said a bit too quickly, leaning forward to put his elbows on his thighs and hang his clasped hands between his knees. He glanced up at her guiltily and then looked down again. "Well…"

"Well?"

"Well…" he repeated, his cheeks actually turning pink, "it isn't so much wrong as…"

"Estel!" She knew very well when he was hedging.

He hung his head. "You aren't going to like it."

"I'll decide what I like or don't like. What is going on?"

He tipped his head up, and his eyes were wide. "I think I'm in love."

Gilraen blinked. "In love? With whom?" She wracked her brain, trying to think of all the females that Estel had the opportunity to come in contact with. So many of them had been friends of his – _adult_ friends – his entire life…

"She's only been here a little while, and… and she's so beautiful…" His face had gained a glow that made her stop and think. His father had had a similar glow when they were courting; so she would need to take this confession quite seriously.

"Who is she, Estel?" Had there been women in the party from Lothlórien other than Arwen, because certainly he wasn't thinking of…

"Arwen Undómiel," he answered and then hung his head as he saw Gilraen's face fill with horror.

"You have decided to fall in love with Master Elrond's _daughter_?" Her mouth gaped as he nodded his head slowly, and it took a long moment for her to recover her wits. **"My son, your aim is high, even for the descendant of many kings. For this lady is the noblest and fairest that now walks the earth. And it is not fit that mortal should wed with the Elf-kin."**

**"Yet we have some part in that kinship****, if the tale of my forefathers is true that I have learned,"** Estel countered. "_Ad…_ Master Elrond himself tells of how we are blood kin, separated by many generations surely, but still noble and…"

Gilraen sighed. **"It is true, but that was long ago and in another age of this world, before our race was diminished. Therefore I am afraid; for without the good will of Master Elrond the Heirs of Isildur will soon come to an end. But I do not think that you will have the good will of Elrond in this matter."** In fact, she was fairly certain that Elrond would take a very dim view of a mortal man wooing his immortal daughter. Estel had seen his foster-father's temper displayed only a very few times; and she really didn't look forward to consoling him after sparking the explosion she suspected would erupt at this announcement. Better he be discouraged quickly, before that happened!

**"Then bitter will my days be, and I will walk in the wild alone,"** Estel sighed, his voice making the statement high drama, as he often did when presented with something he didn't want or appreciate knowing.

Gilraen's mind filled suddenly with a chilling vision of a man, tramping through deep woods alone, his garb tattered and torn, his hair wild and long – and greying. It had been long since she'd had any visions like this one, like the one that had chilled her heart and nearly overwhelmed her the afternoon before the sons of Elrond had brought her husband back to her, dead. And just as certainly as she'd known that something had happened to Arathorn, she knew this grim and lonely wanderer would be her son.

"Nana?" Estel asked, his face showing his concern at her lack of response.

She had to tell him; she had no choice. **"That will indeed be your fate."** She blinked as the vision faded, leaving her drained and reeling. "But let us wait and see. This could be but a passing fancy – Arwen is one of the first women you have seen that you didn't know as a small child. Perhaps it is just the novelty of a new face."

Gilraen put up a hand when he would have protested. "No, Estel. We will speak of this no more for now. _You_ will speak no more of this, not to me, not to Glorfindel, not to Arwen, and most definitely not to Elrond. Do you understand?"

She could tell he wasn't happy, but the nod she got told her that he would obey her. She had a funny feeling it would be the last time she could order him about so and get away with it, and knew that the one who kissed her gently on the cheek before taking his leave was no longer a child.

oOoOo

"You asked to see me?" Gilraen said as she folded her hands to stand before Elrond's encumbered desk, which was gently illuminated by the late summer sun.

The Master of the House rose and with a gesture led her to the chair that she normally claimed as hers whenever she was summoned to this office for something other than official household matters. "I did." He paused next to the sideboard. "Would you care for some wine?"

At a loss as to why she'd been summoned now, she nodded. "I will need it, I suppose?"

The raise of his shoulder in response while he remained turned pouring two goblets was of little comfort or use. "That depends entirely on you," he replied eventually, handing her down her goblet before seating himself in the other chair. "I have news for you that you should hear from me ere anything is said to our son."

"News?" Gilraen sipped at her watered wine to hide her shaking.

Elrond nodded solemnly. "The time has come for Estel to be returned to the Dúnedain. I have spoken with my sons, and after he returns from his latest duty rotation on the fences and has time to rest, they will accompany him to your village, where I have already sent word to your father to expect him."

Gilraen nodded, her mind going numb. "So soon…" she mused.

"I told you before that we have little more for him to learn here. It is now the task of the Rangers of the North to make him one of them, to teach him what it means to be The Dúnadan, so that he can gradually begin shouldering the responsibilities of his position."

She had been expecting this for weeks now, ever since he had taken Estel aside to tell him of his true heritage. Still, now that the moment had arrived, she was unable to wrap her mind around the fact that everything she had been charged with doing when ripped from her village and transplanted into this hidden and protected realm was now finished.

Slowly she realized that Elrond was quietly waiting for her to react to his announcement. She looked up and found his gaze resting gently on her. "And you haven't told Estel yet?"

He shook his head. "No. I wished to tell you first, so as not to make the same error I made the last time I had something of weight to tell him."

"Thank you." She gave him a small smile, one that faltered in the light of his intense gaze. "Is there more?"

"Yes." He took a sip of his wine and then set the goblet aside. "As this sees the end of our joint venture in child-rearing, it means that the time has also come for you to make a decision."

"Me?" she squeaked.

"Indeed. When Estel returns to your people, if you wish, you may return with him."

Gilraen stared at him, dumbfounded. "Go home?"

"If you wish," he nodded. "I leave the choice to you. You may also remain here, if you wish. I would like to think that your time here has allowed you to come to view Imladris as your home as well." He leaned forward. "Although, if you will permit, I would like to offer a few reasons why you might wish to postpone any move, at least temporarily."

Postpone? Elrond was wanting to offer reasons for her to _stay_ in Imladris? Unable to make her mouth do more than gape, she nodded

He sat back, obviously satisfied with at least the opportunity to speak his mind. "In the first place, Estel – Aragorn now – will not be remaining in the village for long. The training camp for the Dúnedain Rangers, I understand, is some distance away. If you were to return, you would still be separated from him, if not immediately, very soon thereafter."

She blinked. Glorfindel had told her something about not being able to be the cushion against Estel's blows any longer once he went to the Dúnedain. This was merely a restatement of it, including the reasons. If she went home, she went home alone. She nodded, accepting it.

"Secondly, I have already watched you weather a drastic change to your surroundings and circumstances, so I am confident of your ability to once more adapt. However, at the same time, I am certain that much has changed in your village since you left. I hesitate to send you off to a place where you would possibly feel estranged and apart. I would instead offer to now allow communications and visits between Imladris and your family and friends again, giving you a chance to hear the news and at least mentally prepare yourself for relocation. When Rangers come here, you should take advantage of their company to renew old friendships and exchange messages."

The offer to allow her to speak to those she might know or who might know of those she cared for – to write a letter to her mother – was almost overwhelming. After so many years, to hear the sound of Dúnedain voices again!

"And finally, a selfish reason on my part, if you will…"

With wide eyes and an overflowing heart, she nodded to encourage him again.

"Arwen will not be staying here; she returns to Lothlórien not long after Estel leaves for the wild. It is also likely that Elladan and Elrohir will avail themselves of the opportunity to return to their orc-hunting, although hopefully they will be less single-minded about it and return home more often. In light of this, I admit I would like to keep near me at least one I…" He hesitated and sipped at his wine as if to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts. When he lifted his head again to look at her, she could see he had steeled himself in some ways, and yet… "I have grown very fond of your company, lady, and would delay your departure if I could. I am certain Glorfindel would feel the same, were he here. As a matter of fact, I fully expect him to voice much the same opinion, once he is given the chance."

For only the second time in the years she had resided in his home, Gilraen knew she was being shown a more full demonstration of the fondness Elrond evidently held for her, a fondness that she returned in full. And she understood him so well; all of his children – including Estel – were leaving him in a very short time. He was clinging to what little he could, lest he lose _her_ as well.

"How much time do I have to make my choice?" she asked a little unsteadily.

"At the very least, until the day after I make this known to Estel," he replied. "There is no need to make an immediate decision. Please, take your time and consider your options carefully. This time, at least, no one will be obliging your actions either way."

"Thank you for that," Gilraen said, her relief almost painful. How different they were: Elrond and her father. Her father had given her no choice, and sent her here feeling as if she were more servant than parent; Elrond was giving her the choice, and letting her know of her value to him long before she chose.

That would be part of what she would have to consider as she thought through her choice. She had prospered under the gentle respect with which the Elves treated all, from the lowliest laundry maid to the Lady Arwen herself. The Dúnedain had very different ideas about the proper place and treatment of their womenfolk.

She stirred herself from her sudden reverie to find Elrond comfortably settled back in his chair, his goblet cradled between his hands, watching her. "You're being overly patient with me again," she said softly, with a blush. "You should chase me out of your office so that you can get your work done."

"I am in no hurry to return to reading dry intelligence reports of questionable value," he waved one hand lazily. "And I am enjoying the company of a good friend."

Yes, they were friends. And her leaving to go back to her village would mean an end to this remarkable, almost unbelievable relationship that had grown up between them over the years. Gilraen smiled at him and settled back into her chair as well. "As am I," she returned. "If you have no objection, I'm in no hurry to rush off."

Elrond smiled. "I have no objection whatsoever, Gilraen."

oOoOo

Two weeks later, the two of them were once more in the courtyard, watching men and horses preparing to leave Imladris. Gilraen tightened her arm around her son's waist as she walked him to his mount. "You will write, and tell me how it goes with you!"

"I swear, Nana. I will write whenever I have a chance." Estel – no, from this moment on, he would be Aragorn – bent to kiss her cheek and give her one more very tight hug. "I have your letters to your father and mother right here," he said, patting his chest where his inner pocket had been placed. "And I will give them your love."

"May the stars light your path always, my son," she managed, backing away as he swung up so easily into the saddle, looking so very much like his father all of a sudden.

"Go with the good wishes of the Elves, my son," Elrond intoned, coming up next to her and standing close enough to lend her a little of his warmth on the chilled morning. "And stay not long before you return home, Elladan, Elrohir."

The two warriors stood like mirror images in front of their father and gave him a warrior's salute and then accepted a hug from him before turning to Gilraen. "We will see him safely to the village," Elrohir promised.

"He will do well there," Elladan added. "And we will watch over him as we might."

"Thank you." Her tears made it impossible to do more than just mouth the words.

Both leaned forward and kissed the cheek closest to them in unison, and then they too had leapt to their mounts and the three of them cantered from the courtyard amid waves and calls of farewell. Soon the song beckoning those leaving to return soon was rising from the many corners of the estate, answered by the refrains of farewell from the travellers.

"I spoke with him," Elrond said softly, surrounding Gilraen's shoulders with an arm and pulling her close. "About Arwen."

She pulled far enough back to look into his face, wiping at tears that refused to stop flowing. "I told him not to say anything…"

"He did not. I saw the way his eyes would watch her when he thought no one was looking. He merely confirmed what I already suspected."

Gilraen had to work hard not to flinch. Was he going to chide her? "I'm sorry. I was hoping…"

"You owe me no apology. I was not angry with him," Elrond said, somewhat surprised. "I realize that he has little experience with women he did not grow up with as his caretakers. I merely let him know that Arwen's heritage is such that she is outside his reach, and that he had no idea what he was asking of me."

"It's but infatuation," Gilraen asserted firmly, leaning back into him again. "Give him a little time in the village, with all the pretty faces there, and he'll forget all about her."

His smile was thin. "My hopes exactly. Have you broken your fast yet?"

"No…"

"Come then. You need something warm inside you, and do not let Aurin take you into the cellars today. You can plan your menus without chilling yourself all over again."

She smiled through her tears. "Yes, Master Elrond."

The large hand on her shoulder squeezed gently. "Enough of that. And have I told you how thankful I am that you chose to remain for a time with us?"

Gilraen leaned into his strength with a sniff and let him lead her back into the Last Homely House.

oOoOo

Three mornings later, they watched Arwen and the party from Lothlórien canter through those same gates, and this time it was Gilraen's turn to offer the comfort and lead the grieving father back into the warmth of their home.

**A/N:** Quotations in bold taken from Appendix A, part v.


	10. Messages Part 1 of 3

"Gilraen?"

She looked up from her wax tablets. "Yes, Erestor?"

The dark-haired Chief Counselor and librarian for Elrond approached, a slender packet of paper in hand. "Elrond received messages from the Dúnedain earlier this morning. Among them were these, addressed to you."

"For me?" Her hand froze in the process of reaching out for the papers.

Erestor's lips twitched. "Indeed. I believe I recognize Estel's hand on the one…" he said, taking the extra steps that would make it easier to hand over the messages. "The other is unfamiliar to me."

The stylus was placed carefully in the indentation in the frame of the wax tablet where it belonged, and then Gilraen was on her feet and heading to one of the window seats to enjoy her messages. "Thank you, my lord," she called out softly as an afterthought.

"Enjoy your news," Erestor chuckled at her. "Be sure to let me know how it goes with our Estel before you vanish for the day, though, please? I find of late that I miss the contest of wills and mind that he has provided for me these past years."

"I will." Already her voice was dropping away as her fingers unfolded the paper bearing her name in her son's clear hand.

_To the lady Gilraen, Naneth, greetings._

_Adar might have sent ahead word of my return, but I fear many did not believe him, I think. I was met by your lord father, Dírhael, and your lady mother Ivorwen, who gave me a warm welcome. I spent several days in the village, learning the names of some of my kin and meeting others, before Dírhael and two other Rangers took three of us to the training camp._

_I am glad that I trained beneath Glorfindel and my brothers for as long as I did, for I have been tested and challenged every step of the way since then. The Els stayed with the camp for a week, giving advanced lessons in swordplay to some of the older recruits before leaving with a small company to take care of a den of yrch found in the hills to the north. I miss them more than I thought I would, for I am feeling very much different and alone here._

_The others distrust me because of many, trivial reasons. They did not expect me to be still alive, much less capable of defending myself. I keep many of my ways from back home still: I prefer my face shaven, I keep my clothing cleaner, and I care for my weapons the way Glorfindel taught me. Nana, growing a beard itches, and makes my face feel as if it has insects crawling on it sometimes, and Glorfindel is a past master of the sword and knows better than any the best way to care for weapons! And because my ways are different from theirs, I am ridiculed. And even though I have since cut my hair to a length more appropriate for a member of the Dúnedain Rangers, and no longer wear the braids which I worked so hard to earn, I am still called "Elfling" or worse. _

_My cousin, Halbarad, is among the worst of them. I would ask him questions, so that I could know of things that are outside my understanding, but he will have none of me. When we are set to spar together, I find I have a real fight on my hands, and he is most wroth with me for no reason at all that I can see. We keep getting sent out on small tasks together, and sometimes it is the best I can do not to get into a brawl with him._

_I do not know how to fit in here, but I know that Adar would not send me forth to train with these men if he did not see benefit in it. I therefore do not complain often, nor do I do more than defend myself if attacked. But I am unhappy here, I will admit. They are a rough group, very loyal to each other and suspicious of those they do not know. _

_The commander of the training camp tells me I may be here for a full year, re-learning things that the Els taught me long ago. He wishes that I would abandon my Elven habits and allow less subtle habits become mine own. I swear I still dream of being on the outer fences, doing useful duty, and then returning to the Hall of Fire for music and stories. I feel Imladhren, not Dúnadan. I __**am**__ Imladhren, not Dúnadan. But Adar thinks otherwise, and so I will keep trying._

_But, so that you do not think that I spend all my time comparing this life unfavorably to that at home, I should admit that I have found use for Erestor's dreaded diplomacy lessons already. Thanks to him, I have talked my way out of several confrontations that easily could have gone very badly. Please pass along my thanks to him for undertaking the thankless job of teaching me how to hold and honey my tongue. I have also grown very fond of the meat pasties that your lady mother sends along to me from time to time. She is a most excellent cook. _

_I am looking forward to being allowed to travel home at the end of my training. I miss you and Adar and the Els. Give my greetings to Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir as well. _

_Your son, Estel_

Gilraen wiped away the tears that had fallen. It had been a very long three months since he had ridden away with his brothers for the last time. She wasn't surprised that he was miserable, as only one who felt completely out of place could be. She remembered similar days when she had first come to Imladris, the feeling of abandonment and loneliness in utterly strange surroundings. She would have to write back, of course, and offer both sympathy and what advice she could summon. Making a place for herself in an alien environment had not been easy for her; she doubted it would be easier for him.

She folded Estel's letter and slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, and then unfolded the second paper. The moment she saw who it was from, she blinked in surprise. Her father?

_To my daughter, greetings at last._

_I was very pleased to see your son grown so tall and strong, Gilraen, so like Arathorn. He is soft-spoken, and thinks before he opens his mouth, something that some of the other younglings his age would do well to emulate. He demonstrated great respect for your mother, and tried his best to make the acquaintance of many in the village before moving on to the training camp._

_Understandably, he behaves more like a son of Elrond than a Dúnadan, and looked more like a girl when he got here with his hair so long and his face scraped clean. I am in hopes that a few months of hard training with his cousin and others his age should knock that foolishness right out of him. Thankfully, the Elves decided to head out with one of our companies to go back to the business of keeping the land clear of the Enemy. We have missed their skills. But it is also well that they leave the boy with us now. We will make a man of him yet, and not leave him an Elf pretendling._

_Your mother and I were, however, very disappointed that you did not feel moved to return to us at the same time. Many times over the years, I have wondered at your being trapped with the Elves. I would have thought that you would have welcomed an opportunity to return to the familiar patterns of your life here. You said little in your letter, and Aragorn was unable to relate to us exactly why you felt it necessary to remain behind, although he did say that you had assumed responsibilities within the Hall there._

_I should not have to tell you of the responsibilities that await your return here, girl. Your mother grows older, and could use the help. You were ever an industrious woman, and I find it difficult to understand that you might have allowed yourself to become as a servant to the Firstborn. Taking care of Aragorn was and should have been your only priority, and your duty to your people should have brought you home at the first opportunity._

_Therefore, you may expect my arrival when the roads clear enough to be passable. Be prepared to return home with me. _

_Your father, Dírhael_

Gilraen sighed. How like her father to order her about, even from a distance.

She leaned back against the cold glass and looked out over the compound. It wasn't quite as bustling as it would be if there were not snow on the ground, but there was activity. The cold had just arrived in Imladris, and only one or two nights' worth of ice had formed where the Elves traditionally placed their play area this year.

She felt the paper returning to its folds, and her hand landed in her lap. _Was_ she being selfish – or lazy – in remaining behind here in Imladris? It was an easier life, to be certain; she need not haul water from the stream, chop wood for her hearth, spend hours cooking and cleaning. She was active and productive here too, but in a more refined sense. She was the authority the cooks and laundresses and healers and seamstresses and maids turned to in the process of keeping the Last Homely House running smoothly and ready for whatever might come. Elrond trusted her to keep track of the household inventories and healing supplies that fell under her watch. She had never been made to feel as if she were but a servant, and yet knew her efforts contributed to the well-being of the whole community.

Elrond himself had asked her to consider waiting for a while before returning to her people and promised her she could now enjoy the visits of those who came for healing or instruction, or to pass news. After hearing his reasons, she had agreed to stay for a while. The letters in her lap showed her that the lines of communications between herself and her friends and family were once more open.

And yet…

"You look upset, Míreth."

Gilraen blinked and shook herself from her musings to find Glorfindel sitting next to her on the window seat. "I'm sorry?"

"It is nearly the hour for midday meal. I came, thinking to save you from the wiles of your wax tablets, only to find you over here gathering cobwebs." His hand took hold of hers. "Is something amiss?"

She debated, remembering the number of times Glorfindel had muttered about her father, and then simply handed him the letter with a sigh. "Read it for yourself."

His crystal-blue eyes peered intently into hers, and then he unfolded the paper. It didn't take long for the eyebrows to slide together into a frown, or for his lips to thin to almost invisible, even as he reached for her again. A tick began in his left cheek, and Gilraen wasn't certain that his teeth weren't grinding together. When he finally looked back up at her, she flinched at the raw anger in his gaze.

"He believes that we would make you…" The hand he held in his was suddenly clenched tightly. "And he thinks that he can just ride in here and…" His cheek was still working, and his countenance was positively stormy. "Is the man really that dense? The Heirs of Isildur have been sent here for generations to learn what he would just as soon beat out of… How dare he!"

"It's his way," Gilraen struggled to keep from squeaking at the way her fingers were being pinched together. "Glorfindel, please. My hand…"

Glorfindel glanced down at their joined hands, and he released the pressure on her fingers immediately. "Oh, Míreth! I am so sorry!" As tightly as he had held her before, now he tenderly nursed her crumpled fingers after returning the letter to her. "It is just that…" The frown was back, as was the tick in his cheek. And suddenly the anger in his gaze was restrained by something else. "Surely you are not going to go with him until you are ready?"

She sighed and let herself hold his hand back a little. "He's my father. I must…"

"He has no authority over you here," was the quiet and vehement declaration, and the glow in his eyes flared dangerously. "You are a free woman, and a full citizen of Imladris. _No_ one has the right to command you in this manner, _no_ one – not even Elrond!"

"But he is right," she protested. "My mother grows older, and it is the place of the daughter to care for her parents when they are…"

"You are Dúnadaneth, Gilraen, as is your mother. The blood of the Firstborn flows within you and adds decades of vigor to your life, as it does to all of your kin. Unless your mother is incapacitated, your father has no business demanding you return to slave for him this way. And would your father not tell you if something had happened to your mother?"

Would he? In her experience, it would be like him to just assume that she would know that her mother was ailing without actually saying anything. "I don't know," she sighed. "So much could have happened in the time that has passed since last I had word. He doesn't mention her except in passing…" She pointed to the letter. "…although Estel speaks of the meat pasties that she sends along to him from time to time, so she can't be too badly disabled…"

"I also do not like what I hear about the way they view Estel, either. True, we _could_ have insisted that he cut his hair before he left and then not shave during the journey, so as to look more like a Dúnadan when he arrived, but the thought that he is being mistreated because of the way he was raised…" He breathed out forcefully through his nose, much like his stallion would when forced to do things that he didn't like.

"Estel's letter is more understanding, Glorfindel," she tried to calm him and found it more difficult than she could have imagined. "He mentions that the Dúnedain are very loyal to each other and suspicious of those they don't know well. And right now, that _is_ Estel. He will have to learn their ways, and learn to be less like the Elves, in order to gain their trust and their loyalty. We _knew_ this."

Glorfindel kissed her throbbing fingers and then loosed her entirely to rise and begin pacing back and forth. "What I find most unpleasant is that they sent to us their precious Heirs to train, and then disparage the training when the Heirs return? I must ask myself if Elrond is aware of this, or if this is just the prejudice of a single man."

"Glorfindel…"

"No! What was said in that letter is unconscionable in too many ways." His strides were getting longer, his gestures more pointed, and Gilraen was very glad that the temper that was flaring again was not aimed in her direction. "I have often thought that I would like to have words with your father, and now I find myself almost relishing the opportunity to at last tell him exactly what I think of him and the way he treats you."

Gilraen's eyes widened. It had been years since she had heard him last grumble his ire at some of her father's attitudes, but evidently the long Elven memory of her warrior friend still harbored many of those grievances on her behalf. She stuffed the second letter in the pocket with the other and rose to snare his arm on one of his agitated passes. "I don't want you arguing with him, Glorfindel. With all due respect, I'm not certain whose temper would carry the day." He looked down at her in surprise. "What I need from you, or Elrond, or someone, is to help me think of some way to respond to him that isn't…"

"Blunt?" He was still glowering, but she could tell he was forcing himself to calm down.

"Disrespectful," she countered with a wry grin. "He's very used to my doing exactly what he wishes the moment he utters his desire. The only time I actually stood up to him was when Arathorn asked for my hand, and he was going to deny us because he thought me too young."

Golden brows rose high on the forehead. "Did you indeed? And what was his response?"

Gilraen smiled in satisfied memory. "It surprised him so much that it rendered him speechless for a moment, and my mother was finally able to get _her_ feelings in the matter heard. And he relented to her." At the inviting look of curiosity, she added, "My mother has the gift of foresight, and told my father that it was better that Arathorn wed sooner than wait." She wouldn't tell him that he had slapped her, and that his surprise was from the fact that she continued to defy him, regardless. Glorfindel was already angry; there was no need to add fuel to the fire.

"Ah." Glorfindel nodded slowly and then gathered Gilraen close to him and held her tightly. "Never fear, Míreth," he soothed at her into her hair. "I will not allow your father to bluster his way into Imladris and order your life to his liking. If you wish to remain here for a time, there is no way that he can compel you outside your capitulation. And you do wish to remain, do you not?"

She leaned into him, grateful for the embrace. "If I had wanted to leave, I would have gone with the Els and Estel," she told him softly. "I am happy here. The time _will_ come for me to return home, I know, but I would rather be the one to choose it, not my father." She sighed. "I just don't relish the argument that is certain to come when I refuse to be pushed around like a child again."

"I am certain he will lay the blame for your reluctance to go home at the feet of the Firstborn as well," Glorfindel commented dryly. "And if so, that is one accusation I do not mind being leveled, or admitting with pride." He kissed her forehead and then let her go. "Come now. Do not let your father's words rob you of your appetite."

"Let me pack up my work," she bargained with him. "I don't think I'm going to want to concentrate on inventory figures very much for the rest of the day."

"Good. Perhaps the two of us can conspire to liberate Elrond from his office as well. I will want him to know of your concerns, and to get some guidance on directing my energies properly as well."

"You know as well as I do that you just want him to be as angry at my father as you are," she accused as she stacked her wax tablets on top of the household ledgers and carried the whole lot to a shelf in the reading room that Erestor had cleared to hold her things.

Glorfindel held out his sheltering arm to her again. "You know me too well," he admitted, drawing her against him again. "Shall we?"

oOoOo

Elrond's eyebrows could be the most expressive feature on his face, and when they first rose to be nearly hidden by his circlet and then descended rapidly into a furled frown, Gilraen sighed. His eyes, however, were calmer than she expected when he finally looked back up at her. "Be ready to return home?" he quoted as a question, handing the letter back to her.

"I am glad you find that as insulting as I did," Glorfindel muttered with his mouth half full of a bite of cheese. "How dare he treat her as if her entire life was to cater to his whims."

Erestor snorted. "And how interesting to find out exactly how we are considered by these…"

"Erestor…" Elrond raised a hand before his counselor could say another word. "Taking offense and getting angry will not resolve the dilemma presented by this missive."

"No, but it feels good at the moment," Glorfindel muttered again.

Elrond turned and glared at the Balrog Slayer. "You are not helping matters, for what it is worth."

"I do not _wish_ to help matters at the moment," Glorfindel snapped back. "I am of a mind to undertake a master's class in swordsmanship this afternoon and make whoever is brave enough to step into the ring with me work very hard." He took a deep breath at the sight of Elrond's deepening scowl and visibly forced himself to a much calmer demeanor. "My apologies, Master Elrond. You are correct, I am not helping matters."

The Master of the House nodded regally, accepting the apology, and then turned back to Gilraen. "Much of the way in which we all…" He shot another quick glare at Glorfindel. "…are going to respond to this depends upon your wishes, lady."

"I know," she replied, feeling genuinely comforted by the way in which the three most dominant Elf-lords in Imladris had taken offense at her father's autocratic tone on her behalf. "It's just…" She sighed again, wondering exactly how to explain things. "This is part of being Dúnedain. The women are in the keeping of their men: when young, their fathers; once wed, their husbands; and if widowed, either their grown sons or close male kin."

"It is so with us too," Erestor put his goblet down carefully, "although I do not believe that any elleth would be expected to set aside her dearest wishes merely because a father or husband would she do otherwise. To act with so little respect for another's wishes, especially in a situation where he has no idea your reasons, is…" He cleared his throat. "…offensive."

"But this explains much I had not understood when first you came to us," Elrond said thoughtfully. "When you came to speak with me that first time, you were terrified nearly to the point of collapse that you would not be allowed to stay with your son, and all because of the instructions your father gave you before sending you off into the night before your husband was even..."

Glorfindel's arm surrounded her waist almost the moment she let go of a sigh. "You never told me of that…" he murmured softly and then raised his head to growl. "And I thought _this_ was bad enough."

She could feel Elrond's gaze on her. "While it is hard for us to accept that a father would treat a daughter so, at least I understand your upset then better now." She looked up to see understanding and compassion in his gaze, along with a subtle hint of something more akin to Glorfindel's response. He might be more controlled at the moment, but she was aware that Elrond's temper was nothing to be crossed. Her father's welcome in Imladris had just cooled significantly, before he had even crossed the stone bridge over the Bruinen.

Glorfindel snorted disagreement and disgust, and Gilraen reached for his hand beneath the table. "And now that my use as caretaker of Aragorn – Estel – is concluded, he is expecting me to be the good Dúnedain widow and come back into his keeping."

"Is this what you wish to do, child?" Elrond asked, his voice gentle.

She shook her head. "As I told Glorfindel earlier, if I had wanted to go home, I would have left with the Els and Estel."

"Then you are welcome to remain here as long as you wish," Elrond said firmly, "whether it is Dúnedain tradition for him to reclaim you or not. You are a full citizen of Imladris, my blood kin, and the appointed Lady of my House. As such, you have privileges and protections that another Dúnadaneth perhaps might not. Your father will be welcomed, as all Dúnedain always have been, but he will not be allowed to take you against your will for as long as you wish sanctuary here."

"I will be glad to let him know the folly of attempting it," Glorfindel nodded with more enthusiasm than normal. "Perhaps the acting Chieftain would like to sharpen his sword skills…"

"I believe that will not be necessary," Elrond glowered at him again. "After all, we do not wish to throw our alliance with the Rangers of the North to the winds over this. But make no mistake: Dírhael will understand, by the time he departs, the limits of his authority over Gilraen while she is here in Imladris. Are we agreed?"

All three Elves nodded firmly. Elrond nudged her with his shoulder. "And yet your face is long and sad."

"I don't look forward to the confrontation," she said softly.

"That is understandable," Erestor agreed, and poured her a little more wine.

"I think I shall send word to my sons to return home sooner rather than later, or at least to provide escort to Dírhael when he comes to Imladris," Elrond mused, toying with his slice of nut bread. "Their understanding and familiarity with the ways of your people and of your father in particular might prove invaluable, not to mention their support for your intentions to remain."

"Not to mention that we miss them," Gilraen said with a sad smile, understanding him all too well.

Elrond returned the sad smile. "Yes, there is that, too."

oOoOo

"You cannot be serious!" Gilraen looked down into the box on Elrond's desk with a combination of pleasure and horror. The mithril sparkled back at her in the sunshine.

"Quite the contrary: I am very serious," Elrond replied, his long fingers lifting the delicate circlet and its attached chains from the box. "Our scouts have the party with the Els and your father coming down the path to the bridge as we speak, and I will have him know from his first glimpse of you that you are anything _but_ a servant here."

"But…" She twisted to see what he was going to do.

"Hold still," he chided her with a smile. "I watched Celebrían put this thing on often enough that I should be able to do the honors for you this time. No one has worn it since she left." He moved behind her and let the circlet slowly descend onto her head. "It would look better were your hair worn loose, of course, but I think…" He tinkered with something behind her. "There now. Turn and let me see."

Gilraen did as he asked, and was rewarded with a wide grin. "A most interesting combination of Dúnadaneth propriety and Elven decoration. I _knew_ this was a good idea."

"He's probably going to think that I'm just putting on airs for him," she complained, putting a hand up and tracing the slowly warming metal from the back of an ear to her temple. What she wouldn't give for her mirror in that moment!

"You are," Elrond replied calmly. "The only person allowed to wear this particular piece is the Lady of Imladris, and that, at the moment and for all intents and purposes, is _you_. As Dírhael is still currently the acting Chieftain of the Dúnedain, it is only proper that both you and I appear in our most formal attire to greet him. Which reminds me…" As she watched, he went back behind his desk, pulled open a drawer, and extracted his circlet, which he set upon his own brow with the ease of long practice. "There."

She had seen him wear the circlet that declared him the Master of the House many times, and always had she thought the circlet merely accentuated the nobility that he carried with him always. He looked no less impressive today. However, with an eyebrow cocked at her inquisitively, she could tell he was also inviting comment.

"None will mistake _you_ for a servant, my lord," she stated with simply honesty.

"Good. I will have no questions as to the positions held in the household by any of those who will make up the greeting party." His smile turned almost sly. "I even invited Glorfindel and Erestor to dress more appropriately for the occasion than is their usual wont. I would imagine the Els will understand the meaning of our gesture long before your father does."

Gilraen smiled and yet sighed. It had taken years to get used to the subtle or oblique ways in which the Elves expressed so many of their intentions and inner feelings. The place assigned to a person at meals in the Great Hall, how far down the hallway one had to walk to a guest suite, and even the attire worn to a function – all were messages and clues for those sensitive to them. Elrond was going out of his way to be obvious, she knew; but it would all go over her father's head none the less. Still, it was fun for a change to be a part of the silent statement being made, and to understand subtext that her father would never even recognize as such.

"I do not believe I have had occasion to wear this since I came back. At least it still fits," Glorfindel's voice announced from the door, causing Gilraen to turn and then gape. His white robes sparkled with the heavy gold threads of embroidered flowers at the hems and the lazy outlines of silver leaves that traced the fabric otherwise. His golden hair was held at his forehead by a circlet that was almost as impressive as Elrond's, but he also wore his long warrior braids finished with golden beads. At his belt hung his sword in a gleaming scabbard.

"You look like a Fëanarean crystal, all glitter and no substance," Erestor commented dryly. Elrond's Chief Counselor had chosen a dark grey robe instead of his customary black, and for the first time in Gilraen's memory wore long warrior braids of his own, finished with mithril beads. The three together were awe-inspiring, and Gilraen knew immediately that the intent was to intimidate or at least give pause. "But you, lady," Erestor continued with a sudden smile, "look radiant." He shot Elrond a conspiratorial grin. "Celebrían would approve whole-heartedly, I think."

"I know." Elrond straightened the cuffs of his own wine-colored robes with an air of quiet satisfaction. "Shall we venture forth and give the acting Dúnadan a fitting greeting?" He extended his arm. "Lady?"

With every step she took, Gilraen could feel the brush of delicate mithril chains against her cheek and the back of her ears. She would have felt self-conscious, escorted so formally by a very regal-looking Elrond and followed by Erestor and Glorfindel in their finery, except that the servants and staff that had looked to her for so long as one of them all smiled brightly and gave her half-bows of greeting. Such expressions of deference were new, and no doubt brought on by her wearing of the circlet. By the morrow, she would be back to her regular reception by those she was responsible for – at least, she hoped so.

Gilraen had never been a part of the official greeting party when a delegation arrived in Imladris before. With a gentle touch at her elbow, Erestor indicated with a nod that she was to stand a little behind and to the right of Elrond. Beside her and just to the left of the Master of the House, Glorfindel took a battle-ready stance of feet apart and hands loose at his side. Beyond Glorfindel, Erestor folded his arms over his chest until the clattering horses had pulled to a halt in front of the portico and its steps.

Gilraen felt her heart leap into her throat when her father's gaze first fell on her and then widened in shock. Yes, she imagined this was not exactly what he had been expecting, to see her all done up with Elven jewelcraft. But the face that next captured her gaze and made her mouth fall slightly open was that of her mother, on a mount of her own, between the two other Rangers who had accompanied the group.

Elladan and Elrohir controlled their astonishment quickly without giving it away to their Dúnedain counterparts. They dismounted quickly, content to leave their mounts in the capable hands of the stablemen who had rushed forward, and moved in unison to give their father a warrior's salute. Then, still moving as if of one mind, they moved to each side of Elrond as the Master of the House spread out his arms. "Welcome to the Last Homely House, Dírhael of the Dúnedain," Elrond stated slowly and regally. "All of Imladris bids welcome to our allies from the North. I am Elrond, Master of this place, and may I present Glorfindel, my Battle Master, and Erestor, my Chief Counselor. If either of them may be of any assistance to you during your stay, please, feel free to call upon their services."

Dírhael dismounted and waited until Ivorwen had been helped back to the ground and stepped forward to join him before walking forward to the first step. "Lord Elrond, it is an honor and a pleasure to know that Imladris is once more open to the Dúnedain. Allow me to introduce my men."

Gilraen sensed Glorfindel's sudden tension. Elrond had been very careful to maintain an open-door relationship with the Dúnedain all through her residency; the only thing that had been closed away had been her and Estel's presence there. Already her father sought supremacy through subtle digs that the Battle Master of Imladris was taking offense to, and Elrond was no fool. This didn't bode well.

"Finally, this is my lady-wife, Ivorwen." Dírhael finished his introductions and gazed at Gilraen steadily. "And I can see you know my daughter."

"Your daughter has very graciously agreed to serve as the Lady of the household for many years now, as my wife is no longer present here," Elrond announced archly, and reached out his hand in an invitation for Gilraen to step forward. "I was very grateful when she accepted the invitation to remain in that position after Aragorn's departure."

"Hello, Father," Gilraen said more calmly than she felt and dropped a graceful curtsey. She rose and smiled more warmly. "Mother, it's good to see you."

Ivorwen pulled her hand from her husband's keeping and rushed forward to gather Gilraen into a tight embrace. "You looked so regal, standing there. I could hardly recognize you!"

Gilraen struggled against a very real desire to simply burst into tears in her mother's arms. "It was Master Elrond's idea," she whispered conspiratorially after she regained her control, then pulling back and smiling widely. "I knew Father was coming, but I didn't expect to see you!"

"I dare say your father didn't expect to have me along either," Ivorwen answered in a conspiratorial whisper of her own. "I believe he thought that he was riding to your rescue, saving you from whatever drudgery the Elves had thrust upon you. But I insisted, and the sons of Elrond supported my request."

"I don't care how you managed it, you are more than welcome here!" Gilraen raised her head and included her father in her conversation. "Allow me to show you to your rooms, where you can freshen up and rest. There will be a small feast in celebration of your arrival this evening." She gave a quick gesture that directed some of the attendants, who had been waiting at the very fringes of the action, to swoop in and take charge of bundles.

"I will leave you in Gilraen's very capable hands, then," Elrond announced expansively. "Dírhael, once you have rested, perhaps you can come to my office. We can discuss any news that you might have before the feast."

Glorfindel stepped close as Ivorwen moved to rejoin her husband. "You will tell me if you have any trouble," he whispered with a very serious glint in his eye, and Gilraen knew it wasn't a request.

"I'll be fine. These are my parents…"

"Nevertheless." The flash in his eyes as he glanced back in Dírhael's direction was not a friendly one.

Gilraen returned the quick glare and then smiled at her parents and gestured for them to follow the Master into the House. "Allow me to show you to the suite assigned to you."

oOoOo

"Oh, this is lovely!" Ivorwen moved into the sitting room of the suite Gilraen had led them to. Elrond had insisted they be housed at the very end of the guest hall, a gesture which could be taken one of two ways: an honor to be away from the noise of the rest of the house, or a subtle snub by keeping them at a distance from the rest of the house. Gilraen wasn't entirely certain which was meant, but as the Master rarely made such specific requests of her, she had complied.

As it was, this suite offered a window in the sitting room in addition to the one in the bed chamber, and a door from the inner room led to a smaller walled outer gardens that was just beginning to bloom. Gilraen turned and gestured to the assistants to carry the bags and bundles into the inner chamber. "The baths are downstairs, if you wish to soak away your sore muscles from the journey. I can show you if you wish…"

Dírhael had waited until the last of the assistants had bowed and exited the suite before closing the door fast. "Sit down, Gilraen." he said, pointing.

She quailed inside, but remained on her feet without allowing any of her misgivings to show. "I'm afraid I cannot remain, Father. I am needed…"

"Sit down, Gilraen, and explain to me why it was necessary for me to come all this way to fetch you home." Her father had drawn himself to his full height, and his pointing finger was insistent.

"Dírhael," Ivorwen shook her head and went to pull her husband's arm down. "You are tired and sore; you were complaining to me as we made our way down that narrow path. I'm sure Gilraen will be glad to explain herself when you are rested and refreshed."

"I will, Father. But I really must go, because I am in charge of…"

"I don't want to hear about your responsibilities to the Elves!" Dírhael thundered and jerked his arm from his wife's hold. "Your responsibilities to them ended the moment I entered those gates."

"Husband! Stop your shouting this minute! You are a guest in this house, and you will lower your voice at once!" Ivorwen didn't often contradict her husband's growls, and Gilraen's eyes widened to see her diminutive mother put herself toe to toe with her looming – and fuming – father. "Gilraen has responsibilities to this house that you don't understand, whether you want to admit it or not; and she can _not_ merely ignore those responsibilities because _you_ are here. If one of your Rangers were to try such a thing with you, I can imagine the explosion!"

As much as she could see her father wanting to argue with her mother, he had to admit that she was correct. "Go on with you then," he said gruffly, waving toward the door. "We will discuss this later."

"I understand," Gilraen nodded, not certain if she would have preferred to just get the argument over and done with sooner rather than later. "Would you like me to show you the way to the baths?"

"We can do well enough with what we have here," Dírhael shook his head. "And it _is_ good to see you, you know. You have been sorely missed all these years." He glanced at the door. "Lord Elrond wanted to speak to me before the feast. How do I find…"

"You have but to ask any servant for directions to his office, and you will be guided," she told him and finally walked over to claim a quick, tight hug. "It's good to see you too. You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear Dúnedain voices again."

Dírhael lifted his hands and very gently touched the mithril chains that hung about her ear. "Tell me the truth, girl. Is this just for show, or…"

"Master Elrond told me that the only one allowed to wear this at official occasions is the Lady of the House, and that no one has worn it since his lady-wife sailed West." Oddly, Gilraen was now very happy to be wearing this intricate Elven headpiece, for that part of the subtext that Elrond had striven for seemed to be making some impression, at least.

"You see?" Ivorwen wrapped her arm about her husband's waist. "Elves don't just give those circlets away to servants. And, lest my eye deceive me, that is mithril. She holds a position of honor here, Dírhael, and doesn't drudge for them at all." She smiled at her daughter. "Go on now, like your father said. Mayhaps by the time we _do_ have the discussion he wishes, he will be more agreeable to whatever you have to say. You know how like a hungry bear he gets when he's been traveling for long stretches."

Gilraen nodded, both in agreement and memory. "Incidentally, you need not rush to meet with Master Elrond, Father. I'm certain he understands your fatigue, and if he doesn't, his sons surely do and will explain. And now I really _must_ go and confer with the cooks regarding the feast." She turned with her hand at the latch of the door. "It really is good to see you both," she said fervently and then let herself out.

"My lady?"

Gilraen blinked to find herself addressed the moment the door was shut. "Lothiel?"

"Is all well with you?" The slender maid's eyes were wide. "You were not harmed?"

"Of course I've not been harmed. Whatever…"

Lothiel blushed. "Lord Glorfindel asked me to make certain that nothing untoward or of a rash nature happened to you while alone with your lord father," she confessed slowly. "Please forgive me, for I do not wish to give offense, but… I heard the shouting…"

Gilraen now didn't know whether to be grateful that her friend had set watchers on her, or to be furious that he had set her own servants to spying on her. She would have to have this out with him later; she really _was_ late to confer with Aurin. "I am well, thank you, Lothiel." She jerked her nose in the direction of the closed door. "In many ways, his bark is worse than his bite, and I've survived encounters with him all my life." She put a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Go on about your business, and thanks to you on behalf of both Lord Glorfindel as well as myself."

"My lady." Lothiel sped down the corridor toward her more regular haunts of the family wing. Gilraen shook her head, both at her father as well as Glorfindel's caution, and followed in her tracks, heading for the kitchen.


	11. Messages Part 2 of 3

Gilraen was hard put to keep from laughing her surprise as she walked into the Great Hall for her meal to discover that all but those serving the food had dressed in their very best apparel. Even Elladan and Elrohir had obviously visited the baths during the afternoon, and were now sporting the fine matching robes that they hadn't worn since her first day there, with Elladan in emerald green and Elrohir in sapphire blue. Glorfindel still wore the white that sparkled silver and gold, and Erestor looked almost uncomfortable, but was still in his dark grey. Her father had at least brought a clean tunic and leggings, while her mother was wearing her wedding dress, which Gilraen knew normally sat at the very bottom of a cedar trunk at home.

Elladan and Elrohir had entered the room only moments before, and they were quick to claim warm hugs the moment she approached the high table. "It is about time Father allowed you to wear that thing after all this time," Elrohir quipped, his long fingers tinkering with the light chains. "You wear it with grace, by the way."

"_Adar_ did not tell us what has put him in full ostentation mood," Elladan whispered to her. "I have not seen him have Imladris put on such a show since last my grandparents visited."

"And here, lest I forget." Elrohir slipped a folded paper to her. "Estel sent this with a friend to the village, just in time for us to bring it to you."

Gilraen's heart skipped a beat. "How is he? Have you seen him?"

Elladan shook his head as he laughed at her. "He is doing well, _Naneth_, we swear. His last message to us sounded much more… settled… as if he is starting to find his way."

She closed her eyes and let loose a breath of relief before slipping the paper into her pocket for later. "Now, where has Erestor decided I should sit tonight?"

In response, the twins began a quick game of rock-parchment-dagger until Elladan had won the best two out of three. "I will be on _Adar's_ right," he announced with a triumphant smirk, "then you, and then Elrohir. Your _adar_ will sit at his left, and then your _naneth, _and then Glorfindel and Erestor."

Her eyebrows raised. "He didn't put me with my parents?"

Elrohir shook his head, making the beads holding his warrior braids click softly. "You are to be considered as part of _our_ family tonight. Erestor said that _Adar_ made a point of mentioning that at least three times today."

"Then I should make the best of being between two of the best-looking and eligible bachelors in Imladris, should I not?" Gilraen said, capturing Elladan's arm with her left hand and Elrohir with her right.

"It should be fun seeing Glorfindel so displaced for a change," Elrohir chuckled into her ear as they moved through the room and then onto the platform.

Her smiled faltered slightly when her father's eyes lit on her and his brows slid into a frown. He murmured something to her mother, who looked over at her with startled eyes, and then bent to murmur something back. Whatever it was, it didn't please Dírhael at all. Suddenly, Gilraen was grateful she was being seated as a member of Elrond's family and not with her own parents, and she felt a hot streak of guilt slither down her spine for her apparent betrayal.

Still, with the Els on either side of her, she was kept pleasantly entertained throughout the meal. Thankfully, Glorfindel was on his best behavior, speaking gently with her mother and keeping that lady entertained. From time to time, Gilraen would lean forward and see her mother smiling behind her hand at some banter that was going on between Erestor and Glorfindel, whom she knew could keep people in stitches for hours when the mood struck them. Elrond was being a good host, keeping his attention on his guest to his left.

Soon enough, the meal was finished, and Elrond rose to offer in invitation to the evening's entertainment in the Hall of Fire. Gilraen snickered at the expression on Glorfindel's face when he understood that the Els were going to be her escorts for the entire evening. However, the stormy look on her father's face at the merry way the Els were treating her, including the way they very gracefully and adeptly kept her safely distanced from him, gave her pause.

"You know, as much as I am enjoying the two of you this evening, I should probably be spending time with my parents," she said finally, when both of them had seated themselves at her side.

"_Adar_ wished for us to remain at your side this evening," Elladan told her, bending to her ear. "He was present when Lothiel spoke to Glorfindel about what she had heard…"

"He was most concerned that Lord Dírhael be given plenty of time to recover from the stresses of the journey before you are allowed to discuss… whatever it is that you and your father need to speak about," Elrohir finished for him. "He said he would tell us about that after the entertainment this evening."

"_Allowed_ to discuss things with my father?" Gilraen was once again torn between gratitude and frustration. Her Elven keepers had her best interests at heart, she knew; but their protectiveness was not going to make matters easier for her when it came time to deal with her father. "I know you all are trying to help, but…"

"Lothiel said that your father raised his voice past an acceptable level," Elladan said, and his flat voice was a loud indication that Elrond hadn't been the only one enraged by her father's lapse, even in second-hand narrative. "_Adar_ felt, and El and I agree, that he should not be allowed near you until he has calmed down. We are well aware of his temper, Gilraen."

She looked up and saw her father disengaging himself from Elrond and dragging her mother along with him with the obvious intention of coming over to talk to her. "Well, I hate to tell you this, but unless you intend to allow a public scene, I suggest you let me talk to him," she said with a note of warning. "Now."

Both Elves looked up at the same time, with the same expression of displeasure on their faces. But Gilraen knew she was right: unless they were willing to allow this to turn into a public spectacle, they would have to let her deal with her father in _his_ time, not theirs. "I will be fine," she reassured them. "As I told Lothiel, I have survived many such encounters. Have a little faith in me." She rose and met her parents before they had come close. "I know we need to talk," she told her father quietly, "but this isn't a good place for it. If you will come with me…"

She led the way out into the main garden to the fountain, far enough away from the building so as not to be overheard. She seated herself on the broad stone of the fountain's pond. "This is comfortable and private. We can see any who approach, and if you keep your voice down, nobody will hear anything you say."

Ivorwen sat down next to her daughter and patted her hand. "I have to admit, they were doing a very good job of protecting you," she commented gently. "Are they always so…"

"Interfering," Dírhael growled. He hadn't seated himself at all, but stood in front of Gilraen in what she now recognized as full battle stance. "I saw how they touched you. You need not deny it."

Touched? The Els had been as gallant as Dírhael himself could ever be, when he put his mind to it. "Elladan and Elrohir are good friends," Gilraen said cautiously. "I have missed them."

"And don't think I didn't see the way that one… Glorfindel, I think… whispered in your ear earlier."

"He was concerned," Gilraen explained calmly.

"I suppose he would be, when the reason why you refused to come home is so obviously clear to me now."

"Dírhael…" Ivorwen spoke softly, but with steel in her voice. "Ask, don't accuse."

"Ask? Ask me what?"

"Which one of them is it?" Dírhael snapped. "Don't lie or pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Or is it both of them?"

Gilraen frowned, honestly confused. "I _don't_ know what you're talking about, Father."

"Here and I thought they suggested that you come with them to Imladris to keep Aragorn safe! Which one is it – and did you wait until your husband was dead before you took an Elven lover, or were you seeing one of them even before…"

Gilraen's jaw dropped, and she buried her eyes in her hand in her struggle to keep from laughing. He thought she was involved with…

"At least you have the good sense to be embarrassed about it when confronted," he grumbled, still obviously quite irate.

She shook her head and looked up at him, unable to hide her amusement. "You think that I have become the mistress of one of the sons of Elrond?"

"This isn't funny, Gilraen," Ivorwen hissed at her. "You were the wife of the Chieftain, and the mother of the present Chieftain. Of all women, _you_ are expected to set the example for Dúnedenith behavior! To take a lover – an _Elven _lover – and then refuse to come home to your position and duties, now that it is safe again, because you're ashamed…"

"I'm _not_ the mistress of either Elladan or Elrohir. I am _NO_ man's mistress, and I am _not _ashamed of anything!" Gilraen exclaimed, her humor vanishing and her horror at the thought emerging. "That isn't why I wanted to stay. You don't understand…"

"Do you think I'm blind?" Dírhael exploded. "I saw how they touched you. There isn't a man in our village that you would have let touch you in that way before. But then, there wasn't a man in our village with the audacity to approach the widow of the Chieftain…"

"They touched me with nothing but respect and friendship! They behaved just as you would have, if in a position to escort a lady for an evening, and they have _never_ even suggested anything inappropriate in all the years I've been here." She was starting to get angry as well. "They are _Elves_, Father, not Dúnedain. They hold different views from ours in some ways, but they know where the line is."

"They had no business putting themselves between us!" Dírhael exclaimed, thrusting his fist toward the ground. "_WE_ are your family!"

"Elrond considers me a part of _his_ family too, Father!"

He ignored her entirely. "And what about that other one - the one all dressed in silver and gold and white? He came very close to you too. Is it _he_ that managed to get you into his…"

"Dírhael…" Ivorwen tried to reach out a hand to her husband only to have it knocked back with a backhanded swat.

"You would just protect her," he snarled at his wife. "I am going to have to go home, knowing that my daughter, the mother of the new Chieftain, has become the whore of…"

Gilraen had heard her father lose his temper at others, but the years since he had last loosed his anger at her had not made him any more tactful. He was convinced of her guilt, and nothing she could say would change his mind. She rose from her seat with all of the serenity and conviction she could summon, and she didn't flinch when he put himself toe to toe with her and glared down at her. "I have been with no one since Arathorn died, Father, and I am insulted that you would think so little of me, not to mention the Elves, who have been friends and allies to the Dúnedain for generations. But if that's what you want to believe, then sobeit; I would hope you will leave me here in peace, then. And I will see you in the morning."

"You will not walk away from this!" Dírhael's hand whipped out and grabbed Gilraen's elbow in a hard grasp and whirled her around. "And if you think I will allow you to stay here and make a mockery of your position and your son's heritage, you are very much mistaken. We are leaving in the morning, and you will have your bags packed, or I will see you back in the village in nothing but your petticoats."

Gilraen had had enough. "And you – _you_ – are the acting Dúnadan, the man responsible for administering justice and fairness for our people and keeping them safe? You will hear nothing I say, you will accept nothing but your own views. What leader does not listen to both sides of an issue? I am no Elf's whore, but I tell you now that I would rather be whore to the whole of Imladris than return with you under this kind of cloud of unreasoned suspicion and disgrace, when I have done _nothing wrong_!"

Dírhael's hand moved so quickly to slap his daughter's face that she didn't see it coming, and the blow sent her reeling. He had caught her ear fully, and crushed the delicate mithril chains into the skin of her cheek. Head ringing and not quite steady on her feet, she nevertheless faced him squarely. "Good night, Father. Mother…" She nodded her head at her gawking mother, not daring to move her head much more lest she lose her balance completely. With her back as straight as a blacksmith's rod, she turned and walked slowly back toward the House, heading for the kitchen doors that would take her back to her rooms without having to push through the crowd in the Hall of Fire.

There was the sound of another blow struck, and then her mother's voice called out to her. "Gilraen! Gilraen! Wait!"

All she wanted to do was go to her rooms, take off the damned circlet with its chains, wash her stinging cheek with cool water, and lay down; but she halted before the doorway into the kitchen and waited for her mother, fearing to see yet another palm print on the cheek of another of Dírhael's women. But Ivorwen looked hale and unharmed. Had _she_ slapped _him_?

"That was beyond insanity, daughter," she said, taking Gilraen's chin in hand and turning her to see the damage her husband had wrought. "You say they have never touched you – is that the truth?"

"Mother," Gilraen sighed tiredly. "I'm telling you that they have never treated me with anything but the utmost respect, never touched me in anything but dearest friendship. I have known no man since Arathorn." Now, finally, the tears welled. "I _loved_ him. I _still_ love him. I miss him everyday I have been here – and here, my love for him has been respected and understood, far better than Father has ever tried to do."

"I believe you." Ivorwen winced as she gazed at her daughter. "I will convince your father somehow that he is mistaken and has done you a grave injustice. It appears that these Elves of yours had good reason to protect you after all."

"For the last time, they Are. Not. _My._ Elves. Good night, Mother." Gilraen could feel her energy flagging badly, and she left her mother standing in the doorway. The wide eyes of the kitchen help followed her until she vanished into the family hall on her way to her suite.

She had survived yet again, but this time not unscathed. To protect her father, however, she would have to plead illness and somehow avoid both Elrond and Glorfindel; and something told her that _that_ was hoping for something that could never be. At the moment, however, all she could think of was to get behind closed doors…

She almost made it to her door, but then Erestor was coming toward her down the hallway from his suite. "Gilraen?" he called to her, but she slipped into her room and shut the door before he got close. She wasn't surprised when, only moments later, he was knocking at her door. "Gilraen!"

"I'm very tired," she called back through the wood. "I need to lie down. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I can tell something is wrong. Let me in, child." His voice was low and determined.

Perhaps if she just kept her face turned away just right… She opened the door a crack. "What can I do for you, Erestor? I really am very tired…"

She watched him slowly and very deliberately put his hand against the door and begin pushing, and she knew she would not be able to keep him out. With a sigh, she turned away from the door, letting it fall open to his insistence, and headed toward her bedchamber. "Please…"

But a determined Erestor was always hard to escape, and she had only managed a few steps when he had her by the shoulders and was turning her about. "What…"

Her balance gone, she tripped and then sagged against him on her way to the floor. He smelled of the delicate niphredil flowers that bloomed late in the year, his dark grey robe was soft silk and smooth against skin that could hardly bear to be touched, and his arms were strong and gentle when they caught her.

His momentary silence spoke volumes. "Your father did this." It was no question. She shuddered at the flat tone she was quickly learning to recognize as Elven rage. "Elrond will need to be told."

"No!" Gilraen opened her eyes and grabbed the collar of his robe. "Don't tell him! He will be furious, and it will spell the end of the help he gives my people!"

"He would not…"

"Please! Erestor! I'm begging you…"

He shook his head and with one finger traced what she was certain was a hand-shaped mark on her cheek. A feather touch to her ear made her flinch. "This is not wise, little one…"

"Or Glorfindel. Oh, Erestor, if he discovers…"

Erestor sighed. "I do not know how you will keep this from them, though. Your face… the damage is rather apparent, I'm afraid. And if you do not break your fast with us as usual in the morning, your absence will be noted; and you know as well as I do that one or the other of them will come to check on you. Both of them will be understandably and rightfully upset that anyone would dare raise a hand to you."

Gilraen huddled against the soft silk. "Perhaps I can tell them that I fell…"

"They are not fools, child. And besides, you do yourself no favors in trying to hide this from them." He sighed again. "If I promise you that neither Elrond nor Glorfindel will take action on this, will you allow me to at least summon Elrond as a healer?"

"They'll do nothing to him – nothing at all?"

"I am certain Elrond will want to speak to him about his abusing his welcome as a guest in this house, but I will convince both Elrond and Glorfindel to take no punitive actions on your behalf. I swear it. But please. You are hurt; let me summon Elrond."

Gilraen finally nodded, too depleted to argue anymore.

"Come, then, let me get you to your bed. Can you walk?"

She pushed herself away from him to stand alone, but was glad of his arm sliding back around her and keeping her steady through into her bed chamber and to her bed. "Sit down. I will give you a cool cloth for your cheek, and then I will go for Elrond." He strode quickly into the small private bath, coming back only moments later with a wet washcloth that he folded and then laid gently against her cheek.

"Thank you," she said, for the coolness of the soft fabric really was soothing. "Wait!" She used the hand not holding the washcloth to her cheek to grab hold of his sleeve. "You swear that neither Elrond nor Glorfindel will do anything to my father?"

"I will convince them of the wisdom of that, yes. You have my word. Now you rest, and I will have Elrond to you as soon as I may." His long fingers stroked her undamaged cheek for a brief moment before he had risen and vanished.

oOoOo

Elrond's voice was calm and compassionate, but his expression was anything but. "First," he said softly, settling on the edge of the bed next to her so carefully that she hadn't even felt his weight shift the mattress, "we shall remove the culprit for the torn skin I see." Gilraen held very still while he relieved her of the circlet and its dangling chains. "I had no idea something so beautiful and peacefully intended could have caused such harm," he commented before setting the circlet aside on the bedside chest. "You have even bled a little. That must have been quite a blow."

"It wasn't your fault," she sighed as he turned her head to the candlelight to better examine the damage.

"And before I go any further, Erestor wanted me to confirm for you right away that Glorfindel and I have indeed agreed to allow ourselves to be bound by his word to you. Neither of us will do anything harmful to either your father or your people over this. And I give you _my_ word that the Dúnedain have not lost Imladris as an ally over your father's actions."

Gilraen closed her eyes in relief, both at the reassurances as well as the tone in which they had been made. "Thank you, my lord."

"I would never do such a thing to Estel, for one thing," he continued, now stroking her cheek with fingers coated with some substance that felt almost as soothing as that cool, wet rag had at first. "For another, my sons tell me that Dírhael has always been a hard man, and his rages are well-known and feared among your people. They also tell me that some of your menfolk often think of and treat their women as property, Dírhael among them. This was what you were trying to explain to us before, were you not?"

She nodded, careful not to disrupt what he was doing to her face.

"Your ear is red. Erestor says that your balance is affected. Are you having trouble hearing?" His gentle touch had moved on.

"No, but I have a headache." Again she felt the coolness of the substance he was spreading over her skin touch her ear with relief. "That feels better."

"You will stay quiet tomorrow, away from loud noises. And Elladan has volunteered to remain in your sitting room for the rest of the evening. Glorfindel insisted that he would take over in the morning and make certain you do not overdo tomorrow at all."

Gilraen's eyes popped open. "He doesn't have to…"

"He insists, and so do I." Elrond's grey eyes had gone as flat and angry as his voice. "We will allow no more harm to come to you here." He set a small, squat glass pot on the bedside table near the circlet and folded his hands in his lap. "Now, I would know what happened."

"We argued, as I feared we might," she said with a shrug. "He said things that made me angry, I said something and…"

"He struck you," he finished for her. "This I have already been able to surmise. What did you argue about, however?"

"It was personal…"

"When one of my family suffers physical harm from an argument, as Master of the House, I have a right to know what the argument entailed," Elrond announced very formally. "Tell me, Gilraen."

"He accused me…" She blushed. "He had no proof, except what he wanted to believe he saw…"

"What did he accuse you of?"

"Of being the mistress of one or both of your sons, of disgracing myself and my position by taking an Elven lover and refusing to return home to my duties there out of shame." There. It was out. And, as she had feared, Elrond hadn't taken the news well. The eyebrows surged together even further, and the grey in his eyes became that of a storm, complete with flashes of something truly dangerous in their ancient depths.

"He would not hear you try to explain?" he asked in a deceptively calm and flat voice. Yes, she decided, Elven rage had a certain tone of voice, and it was very frightening. Still, he was awaiting her answer, so she shook her head. "And his proof was…" he continued, obviously waiting for more.

She sighed, thoroughly embarrassed. "That I hadn't given him a good enough reason for not coming back with Estel, in the first place. Then the informal, almost intimate way the Els treated me – you know how they are – at the meal and then in the Hall of Fire, the way they kept me at a distance from him, only made things worse."

There was confusion swimming in that ocean of rage. "But we – they – would _never_…"

"I know, Elrond. I know. He didn't understand, and he didn't want to understand. I wasn't doing what he wanted me to, and he had made up his mind why and wouldn't hear reason. He ordered me to pack my bag and be ready to leave in the morning, and then called me a…" She cringed; even untrue, the accusation stung. "…a whore. I told him that I still loved Arathorn and always would, that I missed him, that I had known no man since him… And then I told him…"

"Yes?" An eyebrow had risen quizzically.

She screwed up her courage, just as she had for her father. "I told him I would rather be whore to all of Imladris than to go back with him in disgrace for something I'd never done." She then closed her eyes, not wanting to witness his quiet, seething fury anymore, because she knew it would only get worse with every word she said. "That's when he slapped me."

"I see."

The voice was so devoid of emotion that Gilraen cringed, both inwardly and physically. "I'm so sorry, Master Elrond. I didn't mean to cause…"

"You did nothing wrong," he said gently, the compassion finally returned to his voice again a little. "And while your… statement of preference… does take me aback a bit, I have to admire your courage for facing that kind of accusation as well as you did." He patted her hand. "Glorfindel will hear nothing of what truly happened from me, or we both know that he would make a liar of Erestor. Not that I would blame him, but I would prefer that not happen at all; enough harm has been done already. Therefore, this will remain between just the two of us – and your parents. I understand your mother was there?"

"Thank you." Again she felt a rush of relief and finally opened her eyes to face him again. Thankfully, the rage in his eyes had receded, leaving sadness and steel in its place. "And yes, my mother was there. As a matter of fact, I think, although I'm not certain, that _she_ slapped _him_ after I walked away."

"Indeed?" Elrond's lips quirked in a wry smile. "I have learned that one should never underestimate the will of the Dúnedenith. They are a most hardy and resilient breed."

"Some of us are, my lord." Gilraen sighed. She certainly didn't feel very hardy or resilient at the moment.

He smiled, and more of the gentle, caring Master of the House reappeared from behind the storm clouds. "I will return shortly with some tea that will help with the headache and make you sleepy. And as I said, you will spend tomorrow quietly, and I will assess if any more lasting damage was done to your ear."

"Thank you, Master Elrond."

"None of that, now. We are family, and family does not use titles in private." He patted her hand yet again. "Before they leave again, I shall make it clear to my sons that Imladris will be doing its direct business with the Dúnedain through a different intermediary, at least until Estel has taken the position to himself and can appoint someone more appropriate. And until your parents leave, you will be accompanied by one of the family at all times, to prevent any further… incident."

Gilraen nodded her agreement, knowing that Elrond could be just as adamant in his decisions as her father. Then again, Glorfindel would be impossible to convince to leave her side after this, at least until her father departed. And he was considered "family" too…

oOoOo

For the very first time since she had come to Imladris, Gilraen was more than willing to leave her hair down and unbraided, for that way she could partly hide the lingering bruise to her cheek. She dressed slowly and with care, happy that at least her sense of balance seemed to have returned. As she came out into her sitting room, Glorfindel rose from one of the chairs near the fire and came over to her immediately. Gentle fingers lifted the hair back away from her face.

"I wish I had not given my word to you," he said softly, the tick in his cheek suddenly back again.

"I'm glad you did," Gilraen replied, patting his chest softly and then stepping to the sideboard, where a plate with her normal morning fare had been placed. "Thank you for breakfast."

"It was the least I could do," he answered with a tiny bow. "Elrond requested that I tell you that he would be in to see how well you are recovering a little later."

"Elladan left already?" She knew she was asking the obvious, but she honestly didn't know how to talk to a half-enraged Glorfindel. "How long have you been waiting?"

"I have nothing planned for the day but seeing to your welfare," he said, moving back to his chair. He gestured at a pile of material on a small table near the door. "Maeniel was imposed upon to supply you with something to keep your hands busy even as you rest. She wanted me to tell you that she hopes you feel recovered quickly."

Gilraen closed her eyes for a moment, humiliated. "She knows what happened?" She sat down as much because her legs didn't want to support her anymore as to sit to eat.

"The kitchen staff was telling as much of the tale as they knew to anyone interested for most of the night. Maeniel heard from one of them, I fear."

"What have you heard?" How much _did_ he know? Elrond, she knew, would have kept his word, but if any of the kitchen help had witnessed more than just her flight past the hearth and work tables…

Glorfindel's blue eyes glittered dangerously at her. "Only what Erestor had to tell. Is there more to it that I should know?"

"No." She shook her head, relieved.

A low knock on her door brought Glorfindel to his feet immediately, before Gilraen could even set her plate aside. "I thought this was Gilraen's…" her mother's voice floated through the small opening.

"Let her in," Gilraen called to her friend, whom she could see wasn't happy to allow this new visitor into the sitting room. She waved her mother over and then gestured for her to take Glorfindel's seat. "Mother…"

Ivorwen sat down and watched with wide eyes as Glorfindel crossed his arms and leaned himself against the mantle, just behind Gilraen. "Is it possible to speak to my daughter privately?"

"No." Glorfindel's voice was kind, but firm. "Master Elrond was very specific in his instructions that, for the time being, the Lady Gilraen have protection near her at all times."

"Glorfindel," Gilraen added her plea to her mother's.

"I am sorry, Gilraen, but I only follow Master Elrond's instructions." He understood, or at least she thought he did, but was as immovable as Elrond ever could be. "Perhaps, if you and your lady mother would like to go to your bed chamber, leaving the door open so that I might observe, and keep your voices low…"

Gilraen glowered at him. She knew as well as he did that Elven hearing would be more than adequate to the task of overhearing everything. She rose and, taking her mother by the arm, directed her into the bed chamber. She left the door ajar, so that he could see in if he wished, and pulled her mother to the bed. "Sit down."

Ivorwen sat down on next to her and lifted her hair back away from her face. "It looks better than it did last night."

"Elrond used some sort of balm on it," Gilraen told her. "I'm feeling much better, but they want me to stay quiet, away from Father, I think."

"I think I have convinced him that he jumped to conclusions far too quickly, although he's still not happy at all with your attitude."

Gilraen shrugged. "I have been given my freedom here, and treated with respect as an equal, Mother. The reasons I wanted to stay were because I have made myself useful here. Elrond depends on me keeping his household running smoothly so that his Chief Counselor doesn't have to do double duty shifts. That means that Erestor is able to keep his mind on the intelligence that comes through here, and that ultimately means he can help our people fight the Enemy that much better."

"Erestor. He was the one in grey yesterday?"

"Yes." Gilraen nodded. "He manages Elrond's library and is a good share of the strategic genius of Rivendell."

Ivorwen nodded with a smile. "He seems a very personable young man. He even offered to take your father out to the sparring ring this morning."

Gilraen's eyes widened and her heart leapt to her throat. "Erestor? Did what?"

Ivorwen smiled at her. "Don't worry. I'm certain your father will be easy on him, if all this poor fellow does is arrange books and read intelligence documents all day."

But Gilraen was already on her feet and through the door into the sitting room. "Glorfindel! He promised…" Worried and angry, Gilraen glared up at him.

Glorfindel merely blinked back at her and smoothed down her upper arm. "Erestor's promise to you has not been broken. He swore that neither Elrond nor I would lift a finger against your father, and we have not and will not because he also promised _us_ that he would do what was necessary in our stead. He actually demanded the right to do this."

"But…" Gilraen swayed. "He'll _kill_ him!"

"No, he will do nothing of the kind." Glorfindel stated calmly. "Elrond made him promise to do nothing that would draw blood or require Dírhael spend an extended stay in the Healing Wards." The blue eyes grew flat and deadly calm. "I swear to you that your father will not be seriously harmed, much as he deserves otherwise."

"What's the matter?" Ivorwen demanded, coming out to join the others. She grabbed her daughter's arm. "What is it?"

Gilraen turned to her, trying to think of a way to explain it all quickly. "Erestor is a master swordsman, Mother, one of the best in all of Middle-earth. I have seen him make even Glorfindel have to fall back in defense, and Glorfindel is Elrond's Battle Master and the one who taught Elladan and Elrohir all they know. Believe me, Father doesn't stand a chance against him – and Erestor was _angry_ last night. I doubt he feels any more kindly this morning."

Ivorwen was finally catching some of Gilraen's distress. "My husband! What will happen?" She too looked to Glorfindel in dread and fear.

"A much-needed and hard-learned lesson, Lady," Glorfindel answered her calmly, "with nary a drop of blood shed. Those were Master Elrond's conditions. But your husband _will_ learn the depth of the offense he committed last night, and the price of his forgiveness. He will learn to respect and honor the women that the One have gifted him in his life."

"I should… how do I get to…" Ivorwen was frantic.

Glorfindel caught her as she sped past him, heading for the door. "Nay, Lady. This will not be a place for you to play observer this day. You must trust that Erestor knows exactly what he is doing, and will do Dírhael no lasting damage, and be glad that Master Elrond spoke in your husband's defense, despite everything."

Ivorwen turned her frantic gaze to her daughter, who was forcing herself to calm. "Gilraen?"

"If Erestor was made to give his word that he wouldn't hurt Father, then he won't. Oaths are taken very seriously here." She sat down in her regular chair before the fire. "Besides, whatever is going to happen has probably already started. You would get there only to see the very end of whatever Erestor has planned."

"He's your _father_, Gilraen! I know he was out of control last night, and that he hurt you for no good reason, but I can't understand your just sitting there!"

"Mother." Gilraen rose and put her arm around her mother's shoulders. "Come and sit down. If I know Erestor, then what he was planning will not take long. Father will be back soon, and you'll see that he'll be fine."

Ivorwen was visibly shaken, and she turned to Gilraen. "I should … probably go back to our rooms… Dírhael will be expecting me there…"

Glorfindel seemed to shake himself free from his cloud of rage to approach Gilraen's mother and take her hand. "Lady, there is nothing to fear. I would swear my life as proof of Erestor's skill and promise to do no serious harm, if it would give you ease. Calm yourself. I believe Erestor intended that your husband pay a call _here_ after the time in the sparring ring. It is well, then that you are already here."

"Here?" Gilraen wasn't exactly certain she even wanted to look at her father, much less listen to anything he had to say.

Crystal blue eyes filled with earnest affection gazed back at her. "What your father needs to say to you will not wait, and it would be better done with witnesses. Elrond himself will be summoned when they are seen returning from the practice ring."

"You would humiliate my husband before everyone?" Ivorwen glared up at the Elven warrior.

"Nay, Lady. Your husband's humiliation will take place outside and beyond our sight, with only those other warriors who have faced much the same lesson in their time as witnesses. What we will witness in here will be his contrition, both to the Master of the House, the serenity of which your husband violated, and to your daughter, whom he insulted and injured for no reason."

"Tell me about home," Gilraen begged, drawing her mother back down into her seat and sitting herself. "I still have had little news about anybody."

Glorfindel, evidently satisfied that Gilraen had matters back under control, returned to his leaning slouch against the mantle. Hesitantly, Ivorwen began to relate the kind of news from their village that Gilraen had been hungry for, although she could see that her mother obviously was listening very carefully for the sounds of returning warriors outside the doorway.


	12. Messages Part 3 of 3

A soft knock and a low voice beyond the door had Glorfindel straightening and hurrying to allow Elrond entry. Behind him, their identical faces grim and clearly angry, trailed his sons. "As long as I am here," Elrond said, nodding with his nose toward the bed chamber, "allow me to see to your face, child."

"What about Father?" Gilraen asked, not willing to rise as yet.

"On his way. Arthor said that he saw them starting back from the practice range as he was coming into the House."

"Master Elrond," Ivorwen spoke up, although her voice trembled. "My husband?"

An eyebrow lifted. "Intact, my Lady, and walking without assistance. Erestor is a master of the dance of bloodless destruction." With that, Elrond gestured for Gilraen to go before him, and Gilraen gave her mother a quick, comforting pat on the shoulder as she stepped past.

"Bloodless destruction?" she heard her mother ask of those left behind in a voice thin and high with horror.

"And how do you feel this morning?" Elrond asked, leading her with a gentle hand to the window and turning her head so that the light fell on the cheek and ear he'd treated. "Any dizziness, or ringing?"

"None. I feel well, thank you." Gilraen bore with his very thorough inspection. "Whatever you used last night helped immensely."

Elrond nodded absently. "It is a recipe of my own devising, one that I have used extensively on the Els over the years and most recently on Estel." He lifted the hair away from her ear. "I will probably use it on your father shortly as well."

She looked at him sharply, pulling out of his gentle hold. "But I thought…"

The grey eyes were storms and steel again. "What was done to you was relatively bloodless, and did not require a stay in my Healing Ward. Erestor will have been just as discerning in his dealings this morning. Your Father is intact, but he will not be without some minor damage; and that is what that balm soothes best." He folded his hands into his sleeves. "I am pleased with your healing, but I would prefer you remain quiet and rest for today."

"Yes, sir." When Elrond spoke in that tone, it wasn't wise to question or contradict him.

He gestured to the open door. "We should rejoin the others. Your father will be with us very shortly."

As regal as a king, Elrond escorted Gilraen back into her own sitting room, and back into her chair. He took his place between his sons, standing in front of the hearth, while Glorfindel moved to the wall nearest Gilraen and leaned again. Ivorwen couldn't help looking from one stern face to the next as if wondering where the next explosion would come from.

Finally, just when Gilraen was certain her mother was going to begin flinching every time one of the Elves made the slightest movement, there was a knock on the door with Erestor's voice behind it. Glorfindel moved at a nod from Elrond and opened the door for the two who stood beyond, and then let them in.

Elrond had been very correct: Dírhael was quite intact and moving under his own power. But from the literally shredded nature of his clothing, the dust in his hair, the lines of sweat that had made tracks through the dust on his forehead and down his cheeks, the stiffness of his steps and his other movements, and the thoroughly intimidated expression on his face, it was obvious that Erestor had been anything but kind or gentle. Erestor himself was as taciturn and dower as ever, and looked far too clean and tidy to have just demolished a seasoned Dúnadan warrior's entire demeanor.

Gilraen heard her mother give a tiny gasp, as if she had never before seen her husband come out of a sparring challenge badly; but what fascinated her was the way Dírhael had yet to meet her gaze _or_ her mother's. His eyes were fixed on Elrond, and they were not filled with pride or bravado. When Erestor put a hand on Dírhael's shoulder, the man flinched and then nodded in obvious obedience to instructions given before.

He took a deep breath. "Master Elrond, I have had it very forcefully and clearly brought to my attention that my altercation with my daughter last night not only offended against the very nature of your refuge here, but was a direct insult to you, your sons, your people, and the honor of my daughter. I apologize for my behavior and beg of you to tell me what I must do to gain your forgiveness."

"Lord Dírhael, I accept your apologies on behalf of Imladris and my people. I fear, however, that I can only speak for myself and those who depend upon the peace that rules this valley. You will have to speak to my sons, and to Gilraen, to see if they are as inclined to want to put this unfortunate incident behind them as I am." Elrond gazed at each of his sons. "What say you, Elladan? Elrohir?"

Gilraen wasn't surprised when Elladan stepped forward first. "I am very disappointed that, after generations of cooperation with the Dúnedain, eating with them, fighting the Enemy with them, celebrating their victories with them, mourning their losses with them, we are accused of the worst kind of base behavior with one of the most honored of Dúnedain women. She is a lady who has done nothing to deserve the insult given her, who has behaved for the years of her residency here with nothing that did not lend honor to the Dúnedain." Elladan's voice had that flat, enraged tone in it, and his eyes were like his father's had been the night before: almost glowing with the force of his ire.

Elrohir's mood was a mirror of his twin's. "Like our father, we will accept the apology offered us in order that peace can return to the House. But our trust, our friendship, has been damaged. We have agreed that we will continue to ride with the Dúnedain, but our days of full fellowship with them are finished until another leads your people."

Dírhael's face crumpled just a bit at the thought of losing the goodwill of the sons of Elrond. But he straightened very quickly and nodded. "I can accept your hesitation. But please, do not judge my people – our warriors – by my misconduct."

Elladan's scowl only deepened. "Time will tell that tale. Let it be enough that we will let this episode slip into the past like water flowing beneath a bridge."

"And now," Elrond spoke again, his voice steely, "I believe that you have something to say to your daughter, my niece and the Lady of my House."

When Dírhael's gaze finally met Gilraen's, she found him filled with an odd combination of embarrassment, anger and resignation. This entire scene was almost more humiliating to him, she realized, than the trouncing in the sparring ring had been. There, it had been a question of skill and years of practice, with Erestor having surpassed him in both centuries before he'd even been born. This standing in the presence of others and admitting fault and asking forgiveness did not sit well, but he was wise enough to know that anything less would be unacceptable.

"I misjudged you, mistook your actions and those of people here, and accused you of behavior that I know now is beneath you. I also struck you, in the heat of my anger. I can only beg your understanding and your forgiveness."

This was it. She could forgive him and send him on his way feeling that he had at least not lost anything, or she could point out the reluctant nature of his apology and her suspicions of its veracity. He wasn't sorry for what he'd done; he was sorry he had been caught out for one of his rages and finally made to pay for it.

She looked over at her mother, who sat literally on the edge of her chair, waiting to hear what she had to say. Her mother would have to live with him afterwards, bear with whatever temper he would be in as the result of this meeting. Gilraen softened, not to her father's plea, but to the sure knowledge of what her mother would have to deal with.

Gilraen lifted her head and looked at his squarely, her back straight, her bearing as full of pride as she could make it. "Yes, you misjudged me, misinterpreted the actions of others towards me, accused me of things that I would never even consider, refused to listen to me at all, and then struck me. I understand you, though. You expected me to be the dutiful Dúnadaneth, returning as a grieving widow to your keeping, without giving any thought to whether or not that was my wish or even wanting to hear my reasons for staying."

She stood and walked over to him to look him directly in the eye. "You ask for my understanding, and you have it. But now I ask that you understand this: I have lived here for nearly the same amount of time now that I ever lived as your daughter and Arathorn's wife. Imladris is as much my home as our village is. And I tell you that the time _will_ come when I most willingly return to our people, to take my place and carry out the duties that my position will put on me. But that time is not now. You are acting Dúnadan, and for the time being, Mother carries out the duties that come with the position of Chieftain's wife. Here, I help my people as much as humanly possible by making it easier for other minds here to make use of intelligence about the Enemy, saving maybe many Dúnedain lives. I am needed here more than I am there, and so it is _here_ that I will remain."

She took a deep breath to say some of the most difficult words she'd ever said in her life. "I forgive you, Father, but I will never forget what you called me, or how you would have dishonored and disgraced me before our people."

She turned away and heaved a heavy sigh. Standing up to and speaking to her father in that way – and knowing herself to be finally _heard_ – had taken all of her energies. "And now, if it is all right with everyone, and if this meeting is concluded, I think I will lie down. I am very tired."

Elrond, taking charge of proceedings once more, looked up at Erestor. "Are you satisfied?"

Erestor bowed. "I am, Master Elrond."

"Does anyone else have anything to say before this matter is closed once and for all?" His steel grey eyes touched each and every person in the room, offering each in turn a chance to speak their mind. "If not, then we should adjourn to our various daily tasks and let Gilraen get the rest she needs. Glorfindel, you will summon me immediately if you feel my assistance is needed." He spread out his arms as if to herd everyone in the small room out the door. "Dírhael, please follow me to the Healing Ward, where I might ease some of the aches that you now suffer. Also, allow our seamstress to take your measurements, so that clothing similar to what has been damaged can be crafted for you before you leave. Elrohir, if you would be so kind as to show him to Maeniel's studio after the midday meal…"

"I would like to speak to the Lady Gilraen for a moment," Elladan said, suddenly breaking from the group being shepherded out the door to stand next to Glorfindel, who scowled at him. "Only for a brief moment, I promise."

"She's going to be alone with _two_ of them? With no one there to chaperone…" Dírhael's surprise and burgeoning outrage was unmistakable.

"Be _quiet_, you!" Ivorwen hissed at him. "You've done enough damage to our reputation here. Don't make matters worse again!"

Gilraen leaned her face into her hand. Her father would never change – _never_.

At long last, the latch on her suite door clicked closed, and suddenly she realized that Elladan had approached and now knelt next to her chair. "Gilraen?"

When his hand touched her hair, she looked up, startled. "What?"

"I want you to know that if you think it would help ease your _adar's_ discontent with your situation here, I am willing to wed with you." He let his hand trail down her hair to her shoulder, and then down her arm to grasp her hand very gently. "It need not be a marriage except on papers sent to your father. In fact, I know that it could not be more than that because you do not love me that way, and I do not love you in that manner either. But if knowing you to be safely claimed by one of us will satisfy…"

"Elladan," Gilraen gasped and pulled her hand from his grasp so she could throw her arms around his neck and hug him tightly. "You are the sweetest, kindest, most infuriating person I have ever met, and I am deeply flattered and honored by your offer." She pressed her lips to his cheek and then pulled back. "But I must refuse."

His wide, grey eyes grew round with surprise. "But why?" He sounded almost disappointed.

She chuckled and allowed herself the luxury of running a hand over his head in a caress. His hair was not as fine as Glorfindel's, but it was quite soft. "Because, my dear friend, were we to marry, we would be confirming his suspicions about us more than anything else. And considering the humiliation he has just suffered, it would only make matters worse."

At last Elladan nodded. "I see." He looked up at Glorfindel with a wry smile. "Well, it was my one chance to snatch her away from you and _Adar_, and you can see how far I got."

"Oh, you!" Gilraen groaned and swatted at his upper arm. "Go on with you now, so I can rest."

He stood, but reached down to recapture her hand and brought it to his lips. "The offer will remain open. If necessity demands it, perhaps you will reconsider." Then he turned with a flourish and let himself out of the suite.

"And now, Míreth, you will take yourself to your chamber and rest." Glorfindel's hand was ready for her to grasp and use to pull herself erect. That same hand quickly disengaged and wrapped itself about her waist tightly. "I _know_ that there are things about this that you have not told me. You say to your father that he accused you of something that must have been truly awful for you to swear you would never forget it. And now we have Elladan, making that ridiculous proposal."

"It's over, Glorfindel," Gilraen sighed and at long last let herself lean into him. "Let it rest."

"What did your father call you that was so offensive?" he insisted.

She turned and kissed his cheek gently and then squirmed out of his hold. "I'm very tired. Would you do me a favor and bring me a little from the midday meal. I will probably sleep through it." She had almost made it to the bed chamber door before he caught up to her again.

This time, his arms turned her and then pulled her tightly to him. "Listen to me. Your father insulted you, and in doing so, he insulted _me_ as your _gwaedh-vellon_. I am bound by my oath to you that I will do nothing to your father. So I ask you again, what did he accuse you of being?"

She was so tired: tired of being told what to say and what to hold within herself; tired of worrying about what others thought of her; tired of worrying about what _he_ would or would not do; tired of his demanding, as he was now, on rights that simply weren't his. If he was going to insist on behaving more like an over-protective husband than a _gwaedh-vellon,_ then she was going to claim from _him _the kind of comfort that she desperately needed from a man who loved her, even knowing that it could never be more than the shadow of a dream. "_Maethor nîn_," she murmured the _epessë_ she had given him in her heart long ago. He was so very much a warrior, and in this moment so very much hers. "You honestly and truly do not want to know." And then she kissed him.

Glorfindel hesitated only for a briefest moment before taking charge of the kiss, the fingers of one large hand wrapping around the base of her skull and the other hand pulling her body tightly against his. Gilraen quickly found herself lost as he deepened the kiss, stealing away her breath and her ability to think clearly with a tongue that fenced skillfully and all too pleasurably with hers. In the part of her brain that was still working, she felt the beginnings of his desire press against her and ignite a small coil of heat within her where none had been for nearly twenty years. _Arathorn, forgive me!_

Then his lips left hers so she could breathe again and pressed against her forehead. While not letting go of her completely, his arm loosened so that he was holding her lightly. "Elbereth!" he whispered breathlessly, stroking her hair with a hand that trembled. "This cannot be! Míreth!"

She'd been counting on it. She knew he wasn't rejecting her. She had instigated an intense moment that neither of them could ever allow to happen again for a number of reasons, but she was no longer above using the emotions and responses that both of them now struggled with to make her point.

_Does this make me a whore, Father? Are you happy, now that I've proven you right? _

"I know." Her voice shook, and she was out of breath. "And that is why I cannot tell you what you want to know. Please don't ask me again."

They stood together, arms about the other, for a long moment. Slowly Gilraen's heart stopped pounding in her throat, even as his heart slowed to a more regular rhythm beneath her ear. The rush of heat in her belly died away, as did the press of flesh that had sparked it. Glorfindel nuzzled her hair and said in a wondering tone, "You are a far more dangerous woman than any of us could have ever imagined."

"I am a _tired_ woman, Maethor, and I'm going to go lie down."

"Maethor?"

She looked up at him and found his crystal blue eyes smiling warily down at her. "Maethor," she repeated with a firm nod as she pushed herself out of his arms. "I'll see you when I awaken."

It was Glorfindel who quietly, yet firmly, pulled closed the door to the bed chamber after her, leaving himself on the other side of it from her. Gilraen sighed, feeling strangely empty as well as exhausted, and crept beneath her bedspread.

It was a long time before sleep claimed her.

oOoOo

She finally emerged at mid-afternoon, rubbing her eyes against the wish to just go back to sleep again, to find Elrond sitting in his regular chair before her fire, reading a book. He looked up as she stepped through the door and closed the book down on a marking finger. "Did you rest well?"

She looked about the room, surprised. "Where's Glorfindel?"

Elrond gestured for her to take a seat. "That is part of the reason I am here, to explain that."

"Is something wrong?" She steadfastly refused to revisit their last few moments together – not in front of Elrond!

"Yes, and no." He gestured again. "Please, Gilraen, sit."

She followed instructions, but perched on the edge of the chair nervously. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked cautiously, suddenly suspicious.

"That depends." Elrond set the book aside completely and folded his hands in his lap. "I understand you startled him. Badly." It wasn't quite an accusation.

"He was pushing," she returned tiredly, "demanding things that…" She sighed. "I had to show him that there were two sides to the way he's been acting lately."

"You definitely got his attention. He was not specific as to the tactics you used, and I truly have no desire to pry into your private dealings with him, but he wanted some time alone to put his thoughts in order and felt it necessary to begin that time immediately." The eyebrows were up, and the grey eyes filled with questions. "It takes a great deal to disconcert Glorfindel, you know."

"I know." Elrond might be curious, but she was worried now – again. Had she gone too far? Had the events with her father diminished her judgment badly enough that she'd ruined a very precious friendship because of it? Then again, Glorfindel _had_ been pushing closer lately; he had needed reminding that she too had emotions and needs. "I don't know what to say…"

"You need say nothing. I am certain the two of you will work things out in due time. I was simply requested to explain his absence this afternoon. I also wanted to tell you that I have used the balm on your father's new bruises. Erestor proved once again, as he used to do for our warriors every century or so long ago, why it is never a good idea to underestimate a person; and he was extremely thorough about it." He smiled in quiet satisfaction. "Your father sports bruises in places I doubt he has had bruises in a very long time."

Gilraen's brows raised in surprise, because she could hear so much of what wasn't being said. Her father had not been bloodied, but had most likely been given a healthy beating. Erestor, it seemed, was also far more dangerous than she had ever considered. "Erestor also taught me a very good lesson in the importance of listening very closely to what an Elf promises," Gilraen grumbled. "Had I been paying closer attention, I would have seen that he was not committing himself to any limits to _his_ actions, only to yours and Glorfindel's."

Elrond nodded and chuckled sympathetically. "While Erestor's skill with a blade is without peer, his weapon of choice for over an Age has been words. I myself was once caught up in much the same lesson you just had, with much the same results. My advice to you is never to let down your guard when dealing with him, especially when emotions are running high."

"Am I going to need constant guard now?" Gilraen asked, finally relaxed enough to sit back in her chair.

"Do you believe that you might yet again run afoul of your father's temper in the remaining time he will be staying?" was the question she got in response.

She shook her head. "I doubt it. After the humiliation he has endured, first at Erestor's hand, and then in front of everyone here, I would imagine that he will be looking for safe topics of discussion."

"And with Glorfindel out of the road for a while, there should be nothing that would spark his further questioning your honor. Very well – I will lift my edict." He rose. "That being the case, I will leave you to put your hair up and venture forth when you deem fit."

She had risen automatically and now put a hand to her head. "Oh." Where was her mind? Her hair was indeed not only still loose, but messy, without even the control of braiding while she had slept. "Yes, I should probably do that."

"At least until your father has departed. As for the rest of us, you already know how we view your insistence on being a proper Dúnadaneth." His smile widened, and she could see the twinkle in his eyes.

He was teasing her! She smiled back, thankful for the tacit approval hidden in his words. "Elrond, is he angry with me?" She just _had _to know.

Elrond frowned in confusion. "Your father?"

Why would he have thought that? She shook her head. "No, I mean Glorfindel. Is he angry with me?"

Elrond's face softened. "No, child. If he is angry with anyone, it is with himself. All he told me was that he had deserved whatever action you felt necessary to take, and that he needed time for introspection." He smoothed a hand down her arm. "I would not worry. Glorfindel has been in _Bannoth_, and knows how to review his actions better than any Elf in Ennor. When he is ready, he will reappear, and all will be well. You shall see."

He turned and walked to her door. "He did want me to tell you that he requested that the cooks keep a small repast ready for you when you finally arose, as you slept through the meal."

With a smile and a nod, Elrond opened her door and left her standing. She eyed the pile of mending that still sat on the small table near the door, where it had been placed that morning. She would braid her hair and put it up in Dúnedain fashion, but she didn't feel ready to face the rest of the community. She could use some quiet, private time for some introspection too, and working on mending would allow her to be productive as she thought things through.

Glorfindel wasn't the only one who had been startled badly.

oOoOo

"I hope that you don't wait another twenty years to come visit," Gilraen said quietly to her mother as she hugged her close. "And write to me more often with news of the village."

"You write too." Ivorwen gave her daughter's cheek a kiss. "And perhaps you can convince the sons of Elrond to accompany you on a visit someday."

"Perhaps." Gilraen doubted it. Neither Elladan nor Elrohir – nor Elrond, for that matter – considered the roads between Imaldris and points east safe for casual travel. She eyed her father as he adjusted the stirrup for his wife. "Father…"

Dírhael turned. Gilraen had done her best to dress in finest Dúnedain fashion this day; considering the quality of fabrics, she had exceeded her expectations. She knew there was nothing he could find wrong with her, at least visually. Still, she felt a little out of control of the situation. Her father had been almost stiffly formal to her since she had faced him in her sitting room, keeping his comments short and to the point. It had been Ivorwen who had taken over speaking for the two of them to her.

"Stay well, girl." She wasn't certain she was glad that he seemed to have no intention of hugging her farewell at all.

"And you too. Be safe, and very careful." They rode back into dangerous territory. The fact that, despite everything that had happened, Elladan and Elrohir once more rode with them was very telling.

"I will tell your son that you are doing well, when I see him." Dírhael gave the stirrup one last tug and then reached to help his wife mount.

"You have my letter to him?"

He made certain Ivorwen was stable before turning to her, and he patted his tunic breast. "I have it, right here." He gazed at her long and hard. "I _was_ wrong, and I am sorry for it."

"I know. It's in the past now."

Yes, he'd had ample opportunity in the last week to see that she really hadn't taken up with any of the Elves. Elladan and Elrohir had continued to treat her like family, but had made a point of not being quite as tactile as they were when not under observation. Glorfindel remained closeted, and Erestor had oddly taken his place at times, especially in the Hall of Fire.

Dírhael pulled himself up into the saddle and looked down at her. "Come home one day."

"I will, Father."

She backed up, and then turned to find herself facing both twins, once more in their armor. "Don't stay away too long," she told them.

"We won't," Elrohir promised.

"Take good care of _Adar_ for us," Elladan asked, and then grinned cheekily when his father's eyebrows rose nearly out of sight. He leaned closer to her. "Are you certain you would not change your mind?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

She grinned back. "If ever I find it a necessity, I give you my word I will reconsider your offer."

As was their habit, the two of them leaned down and each kissed a cheek at the same time. Gilraen deliberately avoided her father's gaze, knowing that he was probably scowling again from the way her mother was hissing at him. She returned to Elrond's side in time for him to raise his hand. "May the stars light your path and take you safely to your destination, and bring you back to us again, my sons. Dírhael, Ivorwen, farewell. The goodwill of Imladris goes with you."

"My Lord Elrond, our thanks for your gracious hospitality. If ever there is aught that the Dúnedain can do for you or your people, you have but to ask." He lifted a hand from the reins. "Farewell, and may the stars guide you."

Elladan and Elrohir led the way, with Dírhael following, and Ivorwen between the two Rangers who had accompanied them. Soon even the sound of the refrain of the farewell song from the riders had faded.

Erestor nudged Gilraen with a shoulder. "Are you still angry with me?"

"No." She shook her head. "But I have learned that I need to listen very carefully to you when you speak."

His grin was wide. "We shall make an Elf of you yet." He surrounded her shoulder and steered her away from Elrond. "I understand the Els brought you a letter from our Estel. I was wondering what news you have?"

"News? From Estel?" Elrond walked faster and came up on her other side and tucked her hand into his arm. "He wrote not to me. What did he have to say?"

Gilraen smiled and gave a sigh. Life could now get back to normal – or at least as normal as things could be without Glorfindel's presence in her life. "He said that he and his cousin Halbarad have reached… what did he call it?... an understanding. Seems that Halbarad thought that Estel had come to just assume control…"

"He would never do that!" Elrond exclaimed.

"It's amazing the kinds of things people had been thinking about him," Gilraen agreed. "But it sounds like he's finally starting to make a place for himself there. Evidently, things finally came to a head on a training exercise that Halbarad and Estel had to accomplish together, just before the first big snow storm of the season…"

"May I also hear the news from Estel?"

Gilraen looked up in surprise to see Glorfindel standing in front of her. His eyes were kind and had a new touch of sadness in their depths that she wanted so badly to ask him about, except for the people around them. "Of course," she stammered, finally nodding her head. "If you want, I'll bring the letter to the midday meal and read it to you all."

"That sounds like a very good idea," Elrond exclaimed and took two steps before coming back and pulling at Erestor. "I need to talk to you about the news Dírhael brought us."

Erestor would have complained but for a soft fist in the upper arm from the Master of the House. "Of course, Master Elrond," he grumbled and then followed him into the House.

Finally, they were alone.

"I missed you," she said softly.

"I am sorry," he replied. "It was necessary."

She nodded. Her own musings were far from complete, and had given her plenty of disconcerting insights. "Are we still friends?"

"Oh, yes." His smile was warm. "That hasn't changed."

It was something in his voice. "But something else _has_ changed, hasn't it."

"Yes."

Gilraen wasn't certain this was a line of thought that was wise to pursue after all. He was so distant, so… aloof. "I hope…"

"I owe you an apology."

She stared. "What?" _She_ was the one that had gone too far, wasn't she?

His gaze had turned very intense, but the sadness remained. "You were right to do what you did."

And yet Glorfindel stood there without having reached out a hand to hold hers, or to touch her in any way to reassure her. "Really?" She cringed at the skeptical tone in her voice.

"Yes. For a moment, I forgot myself. I demanded more of you than I had a right to ask. And it was not until you in turn asked for more than _you_ should have that I realized what I had been doing. I had violated the trust we had, the spirit of our _gwaedh-gwend_." He shifted, a hand twitched, but then remained quietly at his side. "I am sorry, Míreth, so sorry to have forced you to do what you did. It will not happen again."

She nodded slowly, wishing that she were alone so she could run into her rooms and throw herself on her bed weeping at the price she was now paying for her actions. Every last wall that he had ever torn down between them over the last ten years was back up and fortified. "I'm sorry too," she murmured, as much to herself as to him, and turned away from him toward the open door of the House. She missed him more now, with him standing in front of her, than she had while he'd been genuinely gone.

Then a large hand engulfed her elbow. "Allow me to escort you." He didn't wrap an arm around her waist, as he would have so often in the past, but the relief she felt at his gentle touch was enough to stagger her. "All will be well with us now," he soothed, allowing her to lean on his strength. "Trust me. We are _gwaedh-vellyn_, and I think we both better understand now which lines we dare not cross." He was there beside her, he wasn't as aloof as she had feared; but some of the warmth that had sustained her since Estel had left was gone.

She wouldn't cry – she wouldn't. This was what _had_ to be. She gave him a shaky smile and let him lead her into the House.

FIN


	13. Holiday Visit Part 1 of 2

"We need more butter, and cheese too. Definitely, we need more cheese. The Dúnedain keep asking for dishes made with it…"

Aurin moved down the shelves of the cellar, knowing full well that Gilraen trailed behind her, noting down on her wax tablet where the larder was lacking for the next round of trading with outlying peoples. From the absence of response, she was fairly certain that the Lady of the House had responded to her pointed commentary with her usual, long-suffering smile. If there had been one thing the mistress of Elrond's kitchens had found most challenging about the recent return to openness toward the Dúnedain, it was that Gilraen had taken it upon herself to teach her and her kitchen staff to prepare dishes intended to make the increased numbers of visiting Rangers feel more at home than they ever had. And, unfortunately, many of those dishes flew directly in the face of Elven culinary custom and taste by being filled with or smothered by melted cheese.

"How many extra wheels do you think…"

"At least ten more than the usual, at the rate we go through them now," Aurin interrupted in a sour tone, but then gave into the temptation to toy with her friend a bit. "Perhaps you could explain to me once again just what is so alluring about a dish that would otherwise be very tasty, if it weren't overpowered by…"

"It is our way," Gilraen chuckled at her finally, picking up on the topic and running with it. "Melted cheese…"

"Gets caught between or stuck behind the teeth, and nearly always stretches without breaking between plate and utensil or mouth in a very unseemly manner. That is not even mentioning the difficulty in cleaning the plates afterwards, when it has hardened…" Aurin sniffed in real disgust, but her lips twitched at the very edges anyway. This was becoming an old and comfortable argument, one carried out on a regular basis lately as evidence of the long-standing friendship between herself and the young one who had been given the temporary role of chatelaine in the Last Homely House. It was ever entertaining to the both of them to see just how far either would carry things before one would find an excuse to move along to other topics.

"And it tastes absolutely delicious," Gilraen finished for her before she could say any more. "Have you never tried an apple pie, fresh and hot from the oven, iced and sweetened cream drizzled atop it, and on the side, a slice of sharp…"

"No!" The word was accompanied by a sincerely horrified look and a wrinkled nose. "It is bad enough that I must smell that stuff as I cook it into dishes that would be otherwise most subtly tasty. To think of ruining a perfectly good slice of pie…"

Gilraen settled the stylus into its slot in the frame of the wax tablet and then stared at her. "But you and everyone else here _likes_ cheese. This is what _I _don't understand. At breakfast, there is always at least one plate of slices…"

Aurin nodded. "Aye, we do enjoy cheese when it is hard and cool and sliced and on bread or served in chunks where it is to be enjoyed for its own qualities. Then there are always cheese crisps, if one absolutely _must _cook it." Gilraen smiled and Aurin grinned back. She was well aware of Gilraen's weakness for the thin wafers of cheese that had been fried on a hot griddle until they were golden and brittle bits of filagree. During the colder months, they were a favorite snack for many in Imladris. As a matter of fact, the platter holding the day's crisps to be distributed throughout the House had already been prepared, and Gilraen would no doubt consume her fair share of them. "But cheese melted onto toasted bread and served hot and dripping?" she continued with a derisive tone and a sniff. "Or added to scrambled eggs? Both of those dishes are delicious in and of themselves and certainly much better tasting before being ruined by something with the consistency of… well… hot wax."

"Then again," Gilraen smiled sweetly, "I have never developed a taste for slivered _gondlim_ in butter sauce, nor can I understand how anyone would have ever _dreamed_ of preparing an otherwise poisonous fish by burying it for months in a stoneware box filled with rocks and sand to ferment and then letting it dry and mould on the rack before considering it ready. Did that person have a desire to better understand the meaning of 'food poisoning' or…"

"But _gondlim _is delicious!"

"So is melted cheese in scrambled eggs! Besides, _gondlim_ **stinks **like a poorly-maintained privy! Cheese, on the other hand…"

Aurin shook her head vigorously. "_Gondlim_ does _not___stink; I am sorry that the One did not create _edain_ noses capable of distinguishing the subtle aroma that only fermented and well-aged _gondlim _has. It would make a world of difference to you, I am certain. Incidentally, we should also ask our fishermen to replenish our stock of that in preparation for the feast when Masters Elladan and Elrohir return home again. You know how much they love that dish…"

Gilraen shuddered and then mirrored Aurin's shake of the head. "Yes, I know how much they enjoy that dish, and that even Estel enjoys it, for some strange reason. I still maintain that it smells more like something that should be returned to the stable floor from whence it came – or better, left buried where the fishermen put it until the world ends rather than disinterred after just three months and then hung to mould for another four! And it certainly should not be sliced as thin as parchment, arranged on a platter and covered in good herbed butter."

She took up the stylus again and made a note. "However, as you have asked so nicely, I shall send word that we need more. But I was thinking that this time," she looked at her friend and smiled sweetly, "when you prepare it, perhaps you could make me a melted cheese sandwich to eat at the feast instead, so that I do not have to embarrass myself by not touching the disgusting food on my plate. Bad enough that I'll have to smell it…"

"Are you ladies at it _again_?" Erestor's voice came from the direction of the stairs and doorway that led back up into the kitchen. "Your voices travel all the way up into the kitchen, you know. But I must admit my curiosity has been satisfied: I now know _why_ some of the staff enjoy gathering around the cellar door during your consultations rather than attending to their tasks."

"Aurin seems to think that the Els are soon to return, as she wants me to send word to the fisher folk for a bounty of _gondlim_ suitable for a feast." Gilraen declared as both women watched the Chief Counselor's face emerge from the shadows of the darkened stairs that led back up into the kitchen. "Does she know something that has not been shared with others?"

"Only that the Els love that dish, and would be quite pleased were it served to them upon their return," Erestor offered, his tone helpful but his eyes glinting merrily, "although I should think you know that well enough by now. And it occurs to me that Master Elrond commented not that long ago that it had been a while since he'd had _gondlim_."

"See?" Aurin demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, satisfied to have an ally in the debate for a change. "Even Lord Erestor agrees with me that we should prepare to have a _gondlim _feast! Just because _you_ just do not know what tastes good…"

Gilraen shuddered visibly, but then brightened. "I know! Rather than prepare me a melted cheese sandwich, you could prepare a very small portion of _gondlim _with a spiced cheese sauce instead of herbed butter..."

Although the idea was thoroughly revolting to her, Aurin watched with glee when Erestor's face blanked in surprise and then turned down in utter disgust as he got drawn unsuspectingly into their game. "Now, why would you want to ruin a perfectly delicious delicacy with melted cheese?" he growled, obviously nauseated by the mere idea.

"Because I know what tastes good and what doesn't, and I'm curious if this might actually make that horrid mess remotely palatable," Gilraen quipped back, but then shrugged. "_Gondlim_ is an acquired taste, just as melted cheese is; however, I'm curious now to see if they go together – a culinary compromise, as it were. It would need some of those small, dried red peppers from Harad, though, something to overpower the _gondlim_. Do we have any in stock?"

From the darkening expression on Erestor's face, Aurin decided to reclaim the game from one so completely unprepared for its rules. Gilraen's outrageous request had certainly won this round. "You are truly mad, Lady Gilraen. Melted cheese is…" Aurin began again, only to be interrupted.

"While far be it for me to interrupt your… discussion of matters of the palate, ladies," Erestor began, one hand held up defensively, "or, the One forbid, the entertainment of the kitchen staff whom I can hear cackling above, I truly need to know if you are finished with your inventory and menu planning. Master Elrond has requested Gilraen's presence…"

"Well, why did you not say that earlier?" Aurin spouted impatiently, her hands at her hips. She turned to Gilraen, all evidence of play gone and her tone completely professional. "Do you have everything noted? Have we missed anything?"

"No, I even have notes to send word to the fisher folk," Gilraen agreed, her tone as professional as Aurin had ever heard, "_and_ to make certain to order a minimum of ten more wheels of cheese than usual."

"Then give _me_ your wax tablets," Erestor directed with clear patience, "and come along. I shall take them to the library while you hurry off to speak to Elrond."

"Do you know what he wishes to speak to me about?" Gilraen asked, handing over her tablet and turning as directed by the Chief Counselor's hand at her elbow.

"I do, but I shall defer to Elrond," Erestor sounded as regal and imposing as Aurin had ever heard, "and no, you will _not_ be able to coerce me to give you any hints beforehand."

"Erestor…"

Aurin watched without listening and with a smile on her face as the two vanished back into the puddle of darkness at the foot of the stairs into the kitchen. Five hundred years of doing semi-monthly kitchen inventories with Erestor had made her deeply appreciate the humor and wit of the little one Master Elrond had gifted the position of Lady of the House. It would be for far too brief a time, but she was determined to enjoy a woman's touch running this place again for as long as possible.

Although…

As she caught up the torch that she'd carried down to light the cellar, she wondered what Lady Celebrían would have thought of spicy melted cheese on _gondlim_ – and then cringed and rejoiced not to have heard the explosion.

oOoOo

"You sent for me, Master Elrond?"

"Come in!" Elrond looked pleased to see her, and rose from behind his desk. "I have fresh apple juice, cool from the cellars. May I offer you some?"

"Of course." If nothing else, his demeanor told her that while what he needed to discuss might be something that couldn't wait, it was nothing to be distressed by. Then again, come to think of it, Erestor hadn't been agitated or rushing her down the corridors either.

He moved to the sideboard and began pouring. "I am sorry to pull you away from your consultations with Aurin, but I thought you would enjoy learning that Estel will be returning to us in time for Mettarë."

Gilraen felt the flood of happiness pour through her. "Really?"

"Indeed." He handed her one goblet and then, with a hand at her elbow, showed her to her favorite comfortable chair before his office hearth. "Dírhael has, through the Els, asked that Halbarad, a cousin, also be allowed to spend time with us when Estel comes to visit. It seems that the young man is curious about his cousin's upbringing, and Estel asked permission for the both of them to spend their respite between patrols here."

"When will they arrive?" Gilraen's mind was spinning. Would they be able to stock up on that cheese in time? _Do I have time to finish the tunic I was going to gift him before he arrives?_

"I believe the Els intended to come home the moment the roads opened enough that they would not have to be forging through drifts. No doubt Estel and Halbarad will accompany them at that time."

"I missed them all at Mid-Winter this year," Gilraen commented wistfully. This was the first winter when even the Els had been absent the entire season, and much of the summer and autumn before it. Estel himself had been back to his childhood home only twice since leaving to train with the Rangers four years earlier, and his prolonged absence had been a hole in her life that she rarely commented on at all.

Elrond set his own goblet on the desk after shifting papers carefully out of the way, and then he sat down in his chair and gave such a great stretch that Gilraen could almost hear his joints cracking. "I know; we all have missed the three of them. It is bad enough to have Estel gone for so long; but for the Els to be gone too again takes much of the life from any…" He gave a quick glance in her direction and assumed a brighter smile. "But we will have them all home for Mettarë this year for a change, and with an honored guest besides, and that is what is most important."

"Yes, it is." She smiled back at the Master of Imladris. His admission that the absence of all his sons had grieved him was unexpected, but not surprising. A good deal of the fun and light that was an Imladris with Estel gone was bound in the banter the twins threw back and forth, or the interplay between father and sons, or twins and the other Elf-lords. Elrond had done his best not to show how deeply he'd been affected, however, which made his private admission to her all the more poignant. Gilraen doubted that he would have made a similar confession to anyone else before now or even to her, except that she was feeling the same sense of loss of her son. It was another of his subtle hints that he was indeed fond of her to be this open with his feelings. "We shall have to try to make this a very special Mettarë then."

"Indeed. In light of our expected guest, we will be depending upon your store of knowledge of the various ways the Dúnedain celebrate Mettarë that we here are unfamiliar with, for we would not want young Halbarad to feel as if he missed the Festival because the celebrations would be lacking something important to him."

"You wish to include more Dúnedain traditions as well as your own this year – other than the ones you have always allowed?" Gilraen's smile grew.

"Absolutely. I shall be relying on you to make young Halbarad feel more at home and less lost in a very strange and exotic place. I believe you will probably remember those traditions that you have done without all these years that might make all the difference for him." Elrond's gaze was kind. "Besides, it would be interesting to see a more Dúnedain Mettarë for a change."

"Foods, as well as customs?"

He nodded and took another sip of his juice. "Whatever you wish, provided we have the wherewithal to accommodate you in anything that we have not tried before."

"I'll have to talk to Erestor. Hopefully he can help me make the combination of both Dúnedain and Edhellen traditions meaningful to all at the same time." Already her mind was spinning with ideas and things that she had not enjoyed since her last Mettarë with Arathorn.

Elrond chuckled. "I am glad that my plan is so appealing to you. I know that the Els tried to bring some of their knowledge of your traditions back with them, so that the celebrations you encountered here were not completely lacking; but I was certain that there were probably many more bits and pieces that they were unaware of that you have never mentioned missing." He fixed her with a direct gaze. "You did not have to go without all this time, you know, child. You had but to say something…"

"I know," she hurried to reassure him. "At first, it wouldn't have made much difference to me anyway; I was so lost here, that even familiar things were made strange simply from the nature of Imladris itself and living with Elves. Then, as time passed, and I became more comfortable with the way things were done here and _your_ traditions and customs, it just never occurred to me to ask – or if I truly missed something, it happened late at night, when I would remember my life before and compare." She shook her head. "I have not been unhappy here, Elrond, nor have I suffered any lack of Dúnedain traditions… much…"

"Um-hmmm." He didn't sound convinced, and his shaking his forefinger at her merely reinforced that. "Well, either way, this year we shall make up some of that lack."

"Yes, my lord."

"Make certain that you note down any additional supplies that will be needed in the kitchen or housekeeping when you make up the list for the traders. This is to be a true celebration for all in the valley this year. Estel will be home, the Els will be here, our kinsman will be here; no expense should be spared to make this Mettarë a memorable one for one and all." He nodded at his own pronouncement. "We shall need the memories from such celebrations as this to sustain us in the years ahead."

_That's an odd thing to say_. Gilraen felt a trickle of chill streak down her spine. "Yes, my lord," she agreed, not entirely certain what he meant, but knowing full well that these words would haunt her eventually. His gift for "knowing" things was just too uncanny to be ignored; and sometimes it was one of these little statements from out of nowhere that carried the greatest weight. _Is something bad going to happen?_

She shook herself free from her musing. _I'm not going to worry about that. Estel and the Els are coming home – that's more than enough to think about for now._

oOoOo

"Nana!"

Gilraen could barely believe that the hardened, scruffy-looking young man that had just slipped from his horse was her son, but she had very little time to take in the changes before she was swallowed by his embrace. "I've missed you," Aragorn whispered into her ear.

"Oh, Estel!" Her arms were around his waist, because she could swear that he'd grown yet another inch or so since last she'd seen him, not long before the snows had closed the roads for winter. "You have been away too long. Welcome home!"

There was a lingering scent on Aragorn's clothing that suddenly struck a note in Gilraen's memory: he _smelled_ of home. After all this time, after all these years in Imladris, it seemed incredible to catch a whiff of the pine forest that surrounded the settlement, of wood fires, of sweat from honest and hard labors and even the musty odor of dirt. Her parents, in their visit several years earlier, had worn clothing that had been recently washed and packed away, or stored away in a cedar-lined chest for safe-keeping, and so not offered her such a vivid olfactory memory. Gilraen breathed in deeply, fighting the wave of homesickness that had struck so unexpectedly.

"My son." Elrond's deep voice loosened Aragorn's hold on her, and Gilraen reluctantly stepped back so that her son could greet his foster-father. She watched in amazement as the two shared a warrior's greeting; Estel truly _had_ grown, for he not only nearly matched his _adar_ in height, but seemed somehow more thickly muscled as well. Next to him, Elrond looked almost ephemeral.

Movement to her right caught at her attention: another young man, almost as tall as Aragorn and garbed in nearly identical leathers and home-spuns, slipped from his saddle to stare about him with eyes wide. He then gawked as his cousin suddenly was swept up into a tight embrace by his foster father, whose quick familiarity and inherently regal mein could be quite intimidating to strangers. "And you must be Halbarad," Gilraen said and walked towards her kinsman with hands outstretched, hoping to help him out a bit. "I remember you as much, much younger." Her memories were of an infant, really, born at nearly the same time as Aragorn had been. His mother, Míriel, had been _her_ best friend growing up; Halbarad had her eyes and pointed nose.

The young man looked down at her and blushed as he let his hands be captured. "Lady Gilraen, it is an honor to meet you at last. Nana has told me so much about you."

"All good, I hope," she jested, hoping to lure a smile to his face. He looked as if he felt at least as out of place and lost as _she_ must have felt here at first, all those long years ago. "Come," she added, slipping one hand into the bend of his elbow and tugging gently, "let me introduce you to your host." She could feel the reluctance in his posture as he let her pull him towards where Aragorn and Elrond still stood very close. "Master Elrond, allow me to introduce my young kinsman, Halbarad, son of Halboron. Halbarad, this is Master Elrond, Lord of Imladris."

Estel stepped back so that his foster-father could become the Master of Imladris once more. "Halbarad, son of Halboron, you are most welcome here," Elrond pronounced in his slower, deeper voice that he used in more formal settings even as he pressed a hand to his heart and bowed shallowly. "It is good to welcome some of our more distant kin at last."

"Lord Elrond." To his credit, Halbarad's voice didn't quite shake when he made his crisp, formal salute, although Gilraen could see clearly that he was thoroughly intimidated. Yes, she remembered that feeling as well, the first time she had met Elrond. The mere idea of meeting someone who had seen so much in his lifetime – more even than his aristocratic sons – was enough to take most any Dúnadan aback. "Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to visit. This place is…" The young Ranger looked about himself once more in amazement. "…spectacular."

"Thank you. But come," Elrond said then, extending his arms in an encompassing gesture. "Warm baths, fresh clothing and a hot meal await you all within, do they not, Gilraen?"

"Indeed!" Gilraen turned to her son. "Estel, I thought that Halbarad would enjoy the room next to yours. So you may show him the way to the baths directly. I'll have fresh clothing waiting for him in his room when he's finished."

"And a good meal to sustain him will be served soon after in the larger dining hall," Elrond added. "Erestor and Glorfindel are anxious to meet you as well; you will no doubt meet them at the table."

"This is well, for Halbarad has not stopped asking questions about our Battle Master, _Adar_," Elrohir offered with a grin. "I think he believes that he is up to sparring with him."

"I disarmed _you_ once," Halbarad stated in a pained voice, "and _you_ are considered a master."

Estel chuckled. "I hate to tell you this, cousin, but disarming Elrohir isn't _that_ hard. I wasn't even allowed out on the outer fences until I was able to disarm either him or Elladan."

Gilraen's eyes widened. Arathorn, and indeed all of the Dúnedain warriors she had known at home, had held the sons of Elrond in great awe for their skills with a sword; for Estel to speak of them in that manner… But then she saw Elrond's lips twitching in a manner that told her the elegant Elf-lord was but a few breaths away from bursting out laughing. _Warrior humor, _she decided, _is definitely understood only by warriors._ She let her eyes touch each of the returned family. Elladan's eyes shined at her merrily as he nodded his head in answer to her glance. _Yes, it _is_ good to have them all back home!_

Elrohir put a heavy hand on Halbarad's shoulder and began pushing him towards the steps to the portico in front of the huge front door of the House. "Glorfindel will be much more a difficult challenge for you than I, young one, I promise you. He has moves and counters that he has yet to teach anyone here."

"There shall be plenty of time to discuss such matters over a hearty meal. Go on with you!" Elrond commanded. "Show our young kinsman to his rooms and then to the baths with all of you. The time has come to remove the dust from the journey."

"Come on!" Estel grabbed at his cousin's upper arm. "I'll show you the way." Together, the two Rangers sped up their strides, taking the steps two at a time and hurrying into the House.

Halbarad's voice wafted out to those who remained outside. "Good, because this place is larger than anything I've ever seen before in my life! How do you keep from getting lost?"

"Have _Adar_ and Glorfindel been taking good care of you in my absence, my lady?" Elladan quipped, moving quickly to capture Gilraen's hand and tuck it into his elbow.

Elrond gave his son an arched sideways glance. "And welcome home to you too, my son. Here and I thought you had bequeathed _my_ welfare into _her_ care at your departure. You really do need to let us know which of us is to be taking care of the other and then stay with that choice." With great deliberation, he reached out and plucked her hand from Elladan's arm and nestled it possessively onto his own. "Apparently it would be best if the two of us simply take care of each other until he makes up his mind who is taking care of whom, do you not agree, Gilraen?"

"Absolutely." Gilraen grinned up into Elladan's startled face, thrilled to be so clearly invited to help Elrond turn the tables on his son. It wasn't often that the Master of the House showed his playful side in public; and when he did, it was generally a good idea to be allied with him.

Elrond gave Elladan a gaze of quiet authority. "Besides, you need a bath, child. Now that our guest is within the house and out of the range of Dúnedain hearing, I can tell you truly: you and your brothers stink of dust and sweaty horse and too many smoky fires. One would think you had forgotten the renewing properties of clean water."

"But _Ada_!" Elladan's voice rose into an excellent imitation of a childish whine. "You have Gilraen's company all the time - you must at least allow me to enjoy that pleasure when I am come home!"

"Of course I have her company all the time," Elrond continued, turning Gilraen with practiced ease and then sedately escorting her towards the steps and the open front door beyond. "Unlike you, you see, I do not spend my days and months careening about the landscape on horseback. I am old enough and wise enough to know that if one truly intends to give one's Lady the proper level of attention, one must _remain_ in the general vicinity of that Lady for more than an evening or two now and again. What is more, I am certain she would prefer to be escorted by a gentleman freshly bathed and groomed to one dusty and grimy from too much time spent in the wilds. And for those times when I need to be elsewhere, I am assured that Glorfindel is more than willing to escort the Lady…"

"But _Ada!_"

Gilraen pressed her lips together tightly, but still couldn't keep her shoulders from shaking with her suppressed laughter; and she could feel in Elrond's hold on her that he was having the same difficulty. Elrond schooling Elladan on courtly behavior, using _her_ as an example, was beyond outrageous, and Elladan's whine was worse than anything Estel had ever attempted in his distant youth. "I must admit," she offered, throwing caution to the wind and entering the fray herself at last, "that having two – nay, _three_, with Glorfindel – having three esteemed Elf-lords clamoring for my favors is quite a compliment."

"Four," Elladan corrected quickly, hurrying forward to her other side and claiming her free hand to himself anyway, giving his father a saucy smirk of accomplishment and rebellion as he did. He bent towards her conspiratorially. "You may not know this, Gilraen, but Elrohir is too shy to act on his heart to say anything to you, but every once in a while, he will..."

"Excuse me, but I can speak for myself," the other twin said dryly from where he awaited them on the portico. "And I happen to know better than to get between _either_ Glorfindel or _Ada_ and our Lady of the House. _My_ mother did not raise a fool, or rather…" Elrohir aimed a cocked eyebrow at his brother pointedly. "…she only raised one."

Elrond bent to her from the other side and jerked his head in his sons' direction. "I hear a great deal of wind out here, do you not agree?" Oh, but his smile was mischievous and his eyes twinkled with humor.

"I do indeed."

"Then allow me to escort you to the dining hall while these two smelly ruffians masquerading as my offspring take themselves off to the baths. Remember…" He looked up and gifted them both with a patently contrived glower and an upraised forefinger of warning. "Do not forget to wash behind your ears, or there will be only bread and cheese for you in your rooms. Is that understood?" He reached out and rescued Gilraen's other hand from Elladan's keeping and then waved his sons forward with an imperious gesture. "Go on with you now. Shoo!"

"It is good to see you too again, _Ada_," Elladan stated with a wide grin of concession before grabbing Elrohir's upper arm and dragging him off towards the interior of the house, and the stairs that led downwards to where the hot spring beneath the House fed the communal baths. "Come on, El. I, for one, am hungry enough to eat just about anything that moves."

"Let go of me, you imbecile." Elrohir freed himself from his brother's grasp. "Thanks to you, _Adar_ will probably have Erestor standing at the door, ready to check behind our ears before letting us in to the dining hall."

Elladan's voice was as dry as his brother's had been when it drifted out the door. "As if Erestor would do otherwise anyway, if given the chance. I swear he enjoys watching us squirm altogether too much of late."

"They're home," Gilraen whispered to Elrond. "They're all three of them home, safe and sound."

"Eru save us all," was the whispered response before another tug on her hand got them moving again, although the intense pleasure and happiness of the man at that very same thought shone in his dancing grey eyes. "Shall we?"

oOoOo

Gilraen could see Halbarad's nose twitching in alarm almost the moment he sat down to his place next to Estel, who had been given the place of honor at his foster-father's right hand. Already the platters of _gondlim_ were moving up and down the tables. "Lady?" the young man asked, leaning into Gilraen as much as he could within the bounds of propriety even as he hurriedly slid the platter past and into her waiting hands.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, already understanding all too well his concern. She, in turn, quickly sent the platter on to Glorfindel, who was waiting next to her with a grin of anticipation.

"Must I… I don't think I can…" he began, his face almost pale.

She shook her head at him and with a raised forefinger signaled for another platter to be brought forth. "Nobody expects you to, Halbarad; or rather, Elrond understands, as do I. As a matter of fact, that's why I had Aurin roast a capon for the two of us." She smiled into startled grey eyes. "That's right: I'm not a fan of this particular delicacy either."

Halbarad glanced cautiously at those who surrounded him and then leaned slightly closer, his voice a soft whisper. "It smells like…"

"I know." Gilraen chuckled sympathetically. "And were it not that you're here, and I wouldn't want to sicken you, I had challenged the cook to make a small portion with melted cheese, to see if that would…"

He looked horrified. "That would be an incredible waste of good cheese, Lady!"

"Well, seeing as how melted cheese is appreciated by the Elves about as much as their _gondlim_ is appreciated by the Dúnedain…" she began.

"How can _he_ tolerate the stuff?"

Gilraen choked back a full laugh at the sickened look on Halbarad's face as he watched Estel shovel a healthy bite of pink fish into his mouth and grin with delight. "He was raised with it, and with those who told him it was a delicacy to be savored," she explained quickly, "and never gave it a thought. The only one who never liked it when he was a child was me. The rest of them… well, look at them." She waved about her at the sounds of true enjoyment coming from the other diners in the room.

Halbarad shuddered in revulsion and busied himself with cutting a leg and wing from the capon that had been placed before him. "Is all Elven food like that?" he asked very quietly.

"Not at all. There are only a few dishes that make you wonder if they are entirely sane. Mostly, the food is quite good." She accepted the platter of capon and took a slice of succulent breast meat before moving it back to a place on the table between the two of them. "Tell me: how is your mother?"

"She's well, and wanted me to pass along a greeting. I have a letter for you, somewhere in my travel bags…"

"You could not convince your young friend to try the _gondlim_ tonite?" Glorfindel asked, nudging her arm just enough that she didn't quite spill her wine.

She gave him a raised eyebrow that set him to chuckling. "Halbarad is a true Dúnedain, and knows what is and isn't edible." She gestured at the platter with the half-demolished capon. "We are sharing something we can enjoy as much as you do that infernal fish. Just think: it leaves that much more for _you_…"

"That's _fish_?" Halbarad's face paled slightly again, his eyes on the platter of pearly pink meat that Gilraen suspected was still far closer than he would have preferred.

"A very special fish," Glorfindel informed him happily. "It is buried for three months in shady soil, and then…"

"_Buried_?" The young Ranger's eyes were even wider, and his face paler than before.

Gilraen swatted at Glorfindel's arm. "Stop that, you'll ruin his meal." She turned back to Halbarad. "Don't listen to Glorfindel. He knows what most Dúnedain think of _gondlim_ and is testing your intestinal fortitude."

"Considering that this little one accused our Estel of the most despicable ulterior motives upon his return to his people, I think I am entitled to some small entertainment, am I not?" Glorfindel drew himself up regally and aimed a sharp eye at Gilraen too. "You did not think I had forgotten that, did you?"

Halbarad's fork halted on its path to his mouth. "I did what?"

"I believe you accused Estel of attempting to simply 'move in and take over', if I remember Estel's letter properly," Glorfindel explained without hesitation with a slight scowl, "or of believing himself somehow superior because he had been raised here."

"Master Glorfindel, that's water that has flowed beneath the bridge, down the ravine, across the plains and out into the sea. I have long since forgotten it, and forgiven Halbarad and the others for their assumptions." Estel leaned forward so as to see past his cousin and mother to his old tutor. "I had some rather odd assumptions about them for a while too, you know, so..."

Halbarad's face broke into a nervous smile, and Gilraen could see the relief in his eyes as he turned and gazed back at Estel. "Yes, you did at that, didn't you?"

"I think," Elrond spoke quietly, but with a tone of authority, "that we can allow issues which have evidently been settled between the two involved to rest for now, can we not?"

Glorfindel didn't even flinch at the steely look in Elrond's face. "For now," he repeated calmly, his voice not quite flat.

"What did I do?" Halbarad leaned into Gilraen's shoulder again.

"Don't worry about it. Like Master Elrond says, these are issues that – for you and Estel, at any rate – have been long since settled. Elven memories are long, however; and there was one letter from Estel – the first one we received after he returned to the Dúnedain, as a matter of fact – that made all of them here a little… upset." Gilraen aimed a glance in Glorfindel's direction that begged him to hold his tongue, answered with a lift of a golden eyebrow and a tiny nod that made her sigh softly in relief.

Sometime that evening, during the entertainment in the Hall of Fire, she'd warn Halbarad that he probably faced at least some grilling over the attitudes shown Aragorn at first. These Elf-lords were nothing if not protective of one they considered their own!


	14. Holiday Visit Part 2 of 2

"Aunt Míriel gave me the set of clothes she was going to give Halbarad for Mettarë, Nana. She said that you could give them to him in her stead." Estel held out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

Gilraen nodded. "Of course. I'm glad you've made a friend in Míriel."

"She watches over me almost as much as she tries to watch over Halbarad," Estel said with a wry grin. "She treats us both like half-grown boys most of the time too. She seems to forget that we're both Rangers."

"That I doubt," Gilraen said with a quick shake of the head. "But it does me good to know that someone tries to mother you there, when I am too far away to do so myself."

"She does well at that, Nana. _Trust_ me!"

The tone of his voice made her laugh. "Tell me, though," she asked then, "have you enjoyed learning a few different Mettarë traditions?" she asked, setting the bundle aside and sitting back in her chair in front of her hearth.

"I miss the _enninych_," he replied with a small pout, but then brightened. "But I thought the idea of dying hard-boiled eggs and letting the children hunt for them great fun, especially when I found out that some of the eggs to be hidden were actually wooden and filled with sugared fruits."

She grinned. "I thought you might enjoy that, knowing your sweet tooth. When I found out you and Halbarad were coming here, I asked Master Aranor if he could carve and paint a few wooden eggs for our celebration this year." She giggled. "You should have seen the look on his face when I described what I wanted and why. I believe the dear man thought I had lost my wits; although he told me a few days later that it made for an interesting change of pace from working on furniture, and he was looking forward to the 'action', as he put it."

Estel's jaw dropped. "We're going to have an egg hunt? _Here_? With the Elves?"

"Your father asked me to try to bring as many of the Dúnedain traditions to Imladris as we could manage, so that we could make the holiday meaningful to _edhil_ and _edain_ alike this year," she told him seriously. "I have Erestor making special paper for us to burn our obstacles and regrets, and Glorfindel is in charge of finding tall tree to dance around and then outfitting it with ribbons supplied by Maeniel. Two days ago, I showed Aurin how to dye eggs, and she suggested we even do so to the _enninych_. Although, just to be safe…" Gilraen leaned forward as if sharing a secret, "the _enninych_ will be the pink ones, while the simple hard-boiled eggs will be the greens and blues. Considering Halbarad's reaction to the _gondlim_ the other evening, you may wish to tell him…"

"I will, although I was hoping to convince him to take at least a bite of one."

"Don't." Gilraen shuddered with the memory of Elladan being equally convincing with _her_ during her first Mettarë in Imladris. "We want him to enjoy the day, not spend part of it bent over a bucket in your father's Healing Rooms." She straightened and sobered. "Now, tell me honestly. How are things in the Wild?"

Estel shrugged. "There are plenty of orcs and trolls," he offered off-handedly, "but Grandfather Dírhael says that their numbers don't seem to be that much greater now than when Ara… my father led us."

"And you? How are you getting along with the others now?"

"They accept me as one of them," he reassured her. "We share everything, Nana, and in many ways I feel I'm still learning about them. Life there is… so different from here."

Gilraen nodded. "I know. And what about the young ladies? Has anyone caught your eye that I should know about?"

"Nana!" Estel's face had gone pale, and he looked shocked.

"Now, now…" She shook her head and put up a finger to stop any more of his protest. "I'm certain that I'm not the only one who would tell you that one of your many duties as Chieftain will be to find yourself a nice young lady to take to wife, so that you can have a son to carry on after you as soon as possible. Your Grandfather Dírhael no doubt has said…"

His face looked positively disgusted. "Grandfather Dirhael has been pointing out one girl after another to me constantly, to the point that I think I have made the acquaintance of every last unwed maid in all the Dúnedain settlements between Imladris and Bree. Trust me, I have been introduced, asked to dinner, pushed into dancing, and had fathers quietly pressing their daughters forward for private evening walks – and I find the entire idea thoroughly absurd!"

"Your marriage is of great import to the Dúnedain, my son. Should something happen to you…" Gilraen's breath caught in her throat for a moment, and it took a bit to continue. "Should anything happen to you, there must be another who is of the bloodline to take your place as Chieftain. This is not a task that you can leave off for long."

"Father did." Estel said stubbornly, his eyes stormy.

"Your father eventually married, and it is good he did when he did." Her chin rose as she stubbornly put aside her own emotions at the memories. "We were married only three years, Estel – _three_ little years. You were still practically a babe in arms when he died."

"I have found nobody that… I like so well. They just aren't like…" His words stumbled to a halt and his cheeks reddened.

"Estel!" Gilraen peered closer. "You aren't still hanging onto that crush that you had on Elrond's daughter, are you?" At her son's even more guilty face and quick swivel of the head to avoid making eye contact, she grabbed his forearm. "She is Elven, and you _know _Elrond will not hear of it. Do _not_ jeopardize your standing with your foster-father, or tempt his temper. The Dúnedain rely too much on his support and goodwill."

"I know. I know. But none of the Dúnedain women are even half as pretty, or…"

Her fingers tightened on his arm. "Stop. You are playing with fire, my son, and I don't want to see you get burned. Realize that your crush is nothing but a beautiful dream…"

"Like your friendship with Glorfindel is?" Estel asked pointedly, rounding on her.

Gilraen blinked in surprise. "Glorfindel?"

"Oh, come, Nana. I'm not blind. You and Glorfindel have been _very_ close for a _very_ long time. You two _act_ married, more often than not – now that I have been around people who are married and can see how it is."

_Since when do I have to defend my actions to my own son? That must be Father's influence speaking…_ "You are quite mistaken. I have no illusions about marrying him, much less any intention of pretending such," she replied pointedly. "For one thing, both of us are already married."

"But you would if you could." The challenge was clear.

"No, I wouldn't," she replied proudly. "Glorfindel is a dear friend, but I am married to…"

"Father's dead."

"I will see Arathorn again, and I will step beyond the world with him when my time comes," she insisted stiffly. "And in the meanwhile, Glorfindel's wife awaits him on the other side of the sea with their children, all of whom died in the fall of Gondolin, so you know. My relationship with him is very different from the relationship you would like to have with Arwen. We are close, yes, but it stops at friendship and will never go further." She loosened her grip, but patted his arm when she'd been holding him. "Please. Find another lady more suitable, before you regret it."

At his stubborn expression, all she could do was sigh as she rose to her feet. Estel was on his feet almost immediately in the instinctual Elven courtesy drilled into him from an early age by all concerned in Imladris. It was a shame they had to end one of their rare moments alone together on a note of dissention, but it couldn't be helped. "You really should go and rescue Halbarad, now, before Erestor and Glorfindel discover him alone and corner him about the difficulties you had with him at first."

"I knew Glorfindel hadn't forgotten, from his remarks at dinner last evening." Estel blinked in surprise, "But Erestor too?"

She nodded. "I'm certain they'll forgive him presently, but he may need your defending him a few more times before that."

Estel shook his head. "Elves!" he muttered as he turned to head back to his room – and to his cousin.

Gilraen blinked a few times in surprise. That was the kind of comment often heard in the Dúnedain settlements when out of the earshot of the sons of Elrond, when something the Elven warrior twins did or said drew attention to their alien natures or mannerisms. _Is he becoming less Elvish and more Dúnedain? _

oOoOo

"Ah! Gilraen! I am glad I found you!" Elrond called to her from the other side of the Hall of Fire as she was heading towards the kitchen to help with more of the Mettarë arrangements and beckoned her to join him. He was standing with a most peculiar man, dressed all in gray, and with a long, gray beard. "I would like you to meet an unexpected guest for our Mettarë this year."

"My lord?" She asked as she approached. The stranger had a blue hat in his hands that looked to be made of felt. Considering the point on it, Gilraen figured that the aged man would seem all that much taller were he wearing it.

"This is Mithrandir, a good friend to the free folk of Middle-earth," Elrond said, with a graceful gesture at his companion. "Mithrandir, this is Gilraen, daughter of Dírhael of the Dúnedain, and the Lady of my House."

Gilraen found herself the object of study of a pair of startlingly blue eyes that peered out with keen intelligence from beneath eyebrows the like of which she'd never seen before. "Ah! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady! Elrond only now has told me of the treasure he has been guarding in his valley for so long; I take it you are young Arathornion's mother?"

"I am. It's very nice to meet you as well." Gilraen tendered her hand into the care of a worn and work-hardened hand. "You knew my husband?"

"Only very distantly, and more by reputation than genuine acquaintance. Tell me," he turned to Elrond, "will I also be given the opportunity to meet the latest Dúnedain Chieftain?"

"Indeed you may, for he is visiting here with a cousin for Mettarë." Elrond sounded very pleased by this. "I think you will find him a very capable young man, even if I do say so. He grew up well here, and now has had the benefit of both Elven and Dúnedain training."

Feeling a little out of her element while Elrond and the stranger discussed her son in such terms, Gilraen put her hand to her heart and bowed. "If you will excuse me, I will make arrangements for a suitable suite for your guest, Master Elrond."

"Speak to Erestor about it," the Master said, his attention called to her again. "We have a set of rooms set aside that Mithrandir is accustomed to using during his visits."

"If you will excuse me…" She bowed to Elrond and again to Mithrandir and then turned to head back to the kitchen. She would make a point of having Tadiel speak to Erestor on her behalf, setting the head of housekeeping the task of readying the suite for their unexpected guest. The stranger must not be mortal, then; for Elrond spoke as if he were accustomed to having this Mithrandir visit on occasion, and she'd been in residence for enough years that such familiarity would have brought him to her attention long since. But… he was no Elf either. _What _is_ he?_

"I am surprised she didn't return to her people with her son, Elrond." Mithrandir's voice carried easily across the hall.

"I asked her not to," Elrond confessed. "It has been quite pleasant to have a woman's touch running my household again, and frankly, she is delightful company for all here."

"And her family permits this? As I understand it, the Dúnedain are very protective of their women."

"They were not pleased with the idea, but they have come to accept that this was her choice to make," Elrond answered regally. "Not that I would have allowed them to force her to return anyway. She carries out her duties here with grace and diligence, and is an asset to my House. As far as I am concerned, she may stay for as long as she wishes and be most welcome."

Gilraen smiled as she turned the corner and moved out of earshot, setting the mystery of their new guest aside for the time being. It was ever encouraging to hear the approval of the Master of the House of her continuing tenure. It made her remaining here in Imladris just that much more meaningful for her.

"Ah, Tadiel!" At least she wouldn't have to go looking for the woman, for the housekeeper was coming towards her down the little hallway. "Will you please speak to Erestor for me about assigning Mithrandir what I understand is his regular suite of rooms?"

Tadiel smiled. "I am familiar with the suite in question, Lady, and will see to having it ready as soon as possible. We need not disturb Erestor during his paper-making adventure."

"Is he _still_ working on that? I didn't ask for _that_ much paper…" Gilraen frowned. _Had_ she misrepresented the need to the Chief Counsellor?

Tadiel chuckled. "Fear not. I think he has discovered that he enjoys the creation process, frankly, and has decided to experiment on his own. He has been pestering the weavers and the laundry workers for lint and snippets of colored thread to add to his wood pulp mess. And, from the sounds of things, Aranor will be pleased when he isn't in the woodshop every morning, begging sawdust."

Gilraen rolled her eyes indulgently. She should have known that Erestor would take a simple chore and make it into something… more. "I'll go speak to him. Elrond needs his mind on his other tasks more than on this."

"Do not be too certain," the housekeeper shook her head. "The word has been given to all of us that this will be a most special Metarrë, and that no effort is too great to make it the best it can be."

"I shall have to be thankful that it is day after tomorrow, then," Gilraen said at last, relenting in this retelling of Elrond's intent toward the celebration. "I don't know if Middle-earth can survive Imladris being idle for much longer than that."

Tadiel's musical laughter rang in the little hallway leading to the kitchen as the two of them parted, each going in different directions. "The Dagor Dagorath will not be hastened by our indulging ourselves just a little bit at Mettarë, you know…"

Gilraen chuckled to herself and shook her head. Erestor, normally such a proper and staid Elf, had a playful streak that peeked its head out very seldom; but when it did, most enjoyed the results. Something told her that he had forgotten that these papers were to be burned, and that she _might_ be well-served stopping by and reminding him of the fact and talking him into making a few, very plain pieces for Mettarë use. The papers with the snippets of colored thread, on the other hand, could be saved and used for other, less fleeting purposes, as they sounded delightfully cheery.

Unless he insisted, in which case she would never _dream_ of arguing with him.

oOoOo

"What in all of Arda do you think you are doing up this late?"

Gilraen's head whipped around to see the Master of the House coming toward her with a look that combined curiosity with frustration. Actually, he looked as if he had just arisen from his bed for some reason, and thrown a warm robe over his sleeping clothes. "You need your rest, Lady, for you shall have all of your preparations come to fruition in just a few hours…"

She shrugged at him and lifted the basket in her hand, in which sat three green and pink eggs. More of the colored eggs from the kitchens sat in two large bowls on one of the side tables, but she had a fair number already hidden from the one bowl that was now empty. "I have to hide these first, and then I can rest. I promise."

"_Hide_ them?" He looked around, and Gilraen could see that his eyes were discerning a few of the more obvious spots in which she had deposited her treasures. "In _here_?" The eyebrows were flying high. "Whatever for?"

"Because that is how the Dúnedain begin celebrating Mettarë," she explained patiently. "Parents will have stayed up very late – after making certain their children are fast asleep – hiding the eggs. In the morning, it is a contest to see who can find the most eggs."

"It is unfortunate we have no children here…" he began.

Gilraen grinned at him. "Estel is here, is he not? So is Halbarad; so are the Els. I think you would agree with me that some of the time, the four of them act like nothing more than little children in very large bodies. And I would wager that more than one of your household will be intrigued enough to join in the fun, once they see what's going on…"

"Interesting," was the comment he made, but from the subtle quirk at the corner of his mouth, she could see that he was becoming more amused by the thought as each moment passed. Elrond's gaze moved to the table, and the many eggs that still awaited her efforts. "All of them?"

"Yes, but not all in _here_," she answered as she bent and slipped a pink egg carefully into the space between the leg of the credenza and the wall. "I thought, perhaps, in the courtyard – maybe even one of the larger gardens…"

Elrond quickly tied the sash of his robe and reached for one of the bowls. "If you do this by yourself, you will be at it until nearly dawn and spend the day either utterly exhausted or asleep and missing things. Besides, if you intend to entice the Elves to play with you, you will have to begin finding places that are less close to the ground." The bowl firmly held in one large hand, he pulled out a pink egg and slipped it carefully onto the flat metal that held one of the wall sconces to the wall at his own eye level. "Your hiding spots, while very clever, are appropriate for small children; but given the circumstances, I believe we need to be thinking of more adult places – with a little more altitude."

Gilraen's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that."

He moved to the massive hearth that dominated the room, his gaze fixed on the mantelpiece. Two more eggs found homes, one on either end of the mantle, a reach that Gilraen wouldn't have attempted. "I believe that if we work together, however, we should finish this task in enough time that you will at least get _some_ sleep before morning. Do you not agree?"

"You shouldn't have to do this…" she began worriedly as she populated another sconce with a blue egg, having to go up on tiptoe to make certain it was securely balanced. "One of the benefits of being the Master of the House should be that you need not bother with…"

"Nonsense," he countered, moving to the carved stonework on one wall and placing another pink egg in an empty spot almost as the top. "I find the challenge of finding places to tuck these eggs that might stump some of our more competitive residents quite intriguing, and I would have you awake enough to enjoy your Mettarë. You have worked quite hard at making a number of unusual arrangements that I, for one, am interested to see carried out." He turned a wide grin on her. "I have heard tales of some of your traditions, for those you have asked assistance from have kept me well apprised. I am grateful you took my directions to you at heart so completely. This certainly _will_ be a Mettarë to remember."

What could she say in answer to that? "Thank you," she said, smiling back at him, and then gestured at his bowl. "The only drawback to your assistance, however, is that you won't be able to participate in the hunt yourself."

Elrond snorted softly. "I think it is just as well that the Master of the House does not have to vie with his sons to find eggs. This will allow me to maintain my proper level of propriety, while granting me the opportunity to have my fun watching my sons and people walk past carefully hidden eggs."

"And seeing the Els and Estel behave like small children, no doubt," Gilraen added, chuckling at the thought.

"Oh, I have a hunch that you will end up with, at the very least, Glorfindel in the race with them. He is never one to back away from a chance to laugh, you know this." Gilraen nodded agreement; Glorfindel was at least as impish as the Els, and at least as often. Elrond continued, "And do not forget your young kinsman. He may be shy, but I get the feeling that he will join in wholeheartedly once he sees others far older than he participating. As a matter of fact," he added, his voice thinning as he stretched to place an egg in a very visible spot on the top of a portrait of Celebrían, "I should not be surprised if you could even have Mithrandir's participation as well."

"Mithrandir?" Gilraen turned to stare at Elrond, dumbfounded. "He looks…"

Elrond merely shook his head at her. "I have learned never to underestimate, or even attempt to anticipate, Mithrandir's reactions. He is constantly full of surprises, that one." He gazed about the room. "I think we have placed about as many in here as we can get away with. Let us decorate the garden beyond." He pointed at the glassed doors, beyond which was one of the House's larger and more popular gardens, and then extended his arm. "It should be large enough for us to use the rest of the supply out there."

Gilraen dodged his grasp to grab up the second bowl of eggs. "We'll need torches…"

"Allow me to see to that, while you get started." He pushed the one glassed door open. "After you…

oOoOo

Gilraen looked up at Elrond, and the two of them shared an amused moment of mutual satisfaction before turning to once more witness the spectacle of over twenty Elves and two Men scrabbling around the Hall of Fire and in the garden beyond, looking for the hidden treasure. "I would say that this is one of the more unexpected, but delightful, traditions I have seen," Elrond commented quietly. "Thank you for allowing me to help you last night, for I can now see…" He paused and chuckled at the sight of Elrohir and Elladan catching sight of the same egg at the same time and making it a race to see who would snatch it up first. "Small children in very large bodies indeed!"

"One would think we had gone back in time," Erestor drawled, coming up from behind them and then joining them in the garden doorway. "So much for the grace and grandeur of the Elves…"

"I saw it first!" Elladan pouted, eyeing the egg in his brother's hand.

Elrohir looked up at him and barked a laugh. "Did not. And even if you did, El, I got to it first. Go find another."

"Come along, elflings. Do not let an old man like me get ahead of you," Glorfindel called to both of the Els, brandishing his little basket triumphantly. "More time looking and less time arguing would be of great assistance to you."

"Leave them be, Master Glorfindel. It means a better chance for the rest of us!" Mithrandir replied with a hearty laugh. "One should not waste any advantage over the young and spry!"

"Oh no! Do not eat that one, Halbarad!" Gilraen called out suddenly, seeing her young kinsman leaning against the wall and eyeing a pink egg in his hand, then raising it to begin removing the shell. "As a matter of fact, you'll want to trade all of your pinks with Estel." She nodded as he looked up and over at her with wide, questioning eyes. "Remember the fish? These eggs are very like – at least the pink ones are."

Halbarad's eyes got even wider, and he settled the pink egg back into his basket carefully before making a sour face and shuddering.

"I thought I'd asked you to tell him," she accused Estel.

He shrugged at her with a guilty and sheepish look on his face. "I forgot. Sorry, Nana."

"Hmph!" She shook her head at him, understanding him all too well. "Likely story!"

"You mean the pink ones are…" Elladan asked, his smile widening.

"_Enninych_," Gilraen supplied with a grin and a nod.

The word passed among the Elves, and the general level of activity in searching was immediately increased, and competition for the pink eggs became keen. "Why did you not tell us this before?" Elrohir tossed at her as he darted for one of those very eggs hidden in between the roots of a tree and catching it up with small cry of victory just a few moments before a determined Tadiel did.

"Consider it as a pleasant surprise for the Imladhrim, my son," Elrond called back and then bent to Gilraen's ear. "You did have Aurin set a few _enninych_ aside for those of us who do not wish to scramble, did you not?"

Gilraen considered withholding her answer when she saw the disparaging look on Erestor's face when he looked back out at those participating in the hunt. But her better nature won out, and she relented. "There are plenty that didn't get dyed or hidden, my Lord, considering the number of people here who enjoy them. But I must admit that I honestly had no idea how many Elves would want to..." She waved her hand at the scene before her.

"As I said, any hope of perpetuating the illusion that the Elves are beings of great wisdom and grandeur for our Estel's young cousin have just flown away," Erestor spouted with a shake of the head. "How easily your strange traditions corrupt us."

"Now, now, old friend. Considering everything, I think having an excuse to let go of some of our normal weight and propriety is a good thing from time to time, provided it happens only rarely," Elrond responded indulgently. "A single day with few cares and plenty of reasons to be light-hearted will do us all good."

Erestor merely shook his head again. "You will let me know when you need the papers that you asked me to make, will you not?" he asked Gilraen pointedly. "I believe I will retire to the kitchen and prepare for a day of reading."

"Oh no, you do not!" Glorfindel lunged forward and caught at the Chief Counselor's elbow with his free hand. "I could use help making certain I stay ahead of those two, and your eyes are just as sharp as…"

"Unhand me, you manic Vanya! I have no intentions whatsoever to…"

"Your reading can wait, old friend," Glorfindel insisted, his voice softer and lower and much less mocking. "We have our young ones home with us, can you not simply let yourself enjoy the holiday?"

"Yes! You hide yourself away in the library every year at Mettarë until suppertime, Erestor. It would be nice to have you with us enjoying the day for a change," Gilraen agreed with her friend. "Would you truly deny us the pleasure of your company?"

Erestor turned a clearly beseeching look to Elrond, who merely threw up a defensive hand. "Oh no! Do not look to me," the Master declared with his own shake of the head. "I have already played my own small part in the celebration; and if I can let down and have some innocent fun in celebration of the coming of spring, so can you. It would do you good, frankly." He nodded at the remaining baskets piled on the credenza. "If you apply yourself, you know, you could outdo several here."

Gilraen had to cover her mouth to keep from snickering out loud as the very staid Chief Counselor to Master Elrond looked about the Hall of Fire with his almond-shaped eyes narrowed in concentration. "Very well," he said finally, "if that is the challenge…" Without ceding the least bit of his stately mien, he walked sedately to the pile of empty baskets, took one, and then immediately bent to retrieve an egg discretely nestled against the wall at the foot of the sideboard.

"The rest have no chance now," Elrond told her in a whisper, "but it will be good to see him unbend just a little for a change."

"You approve of this little tradition, even if it is more intended for the young?" she asked.

"I do indeed. It appeals to both the young and the young in heart, and calls to the innocence in all. I approve wholeheartedly. Our special Mettarë seems to have gotten off to a fine start, do you not agree?"

Watching Erestor move smoothly through the skittering participants, bending or reaching with great regularity, Gilraen had to agree. "Yes. This is even better than I had hoped."

oOoOo

Gilraen lifted her goblet of wine and took a sip, her foot tapping the floor in time with the lively tune Lindir and his musicians were playing in the corner. The dance floor in front of the great hearth teemed with dancing couples leaping and spinning, and the very air in the Hall of Fire seemed to sparkle with the energy of the New Year just begun and the many ways in which Elves and Men celebrated the turn of the year.

She turned and spotted Elrond in animated discussion with both the Els and Glorfindel. The Master of the House had found many opportunities to laugh and laugh heartily at the way the various customs and traditions were folded into each other. The Els had shed all pretence of solemnity and put on quite the show, competing against each other and bickering playfully for the entertainment of all.

She then turned a little further to see Erestor in his regular chair in the Hall of Fire, wine goblet in one hand while the other hand waved a forefinger back and forth to the music. Pried from his library for the entirety of the day, Erestor had eventually thrown himself into the festivities completely. He had taken one of the ribbons and danced around the pole until he was pressed tightly against all the other dancers, laughing with them.

Estel and Halbarad had been thoroughly pleased, although Estel had been more so due to his familiarity with both Elvish and Dúnedain traditions. Both had enjoyed their gifts, and had mimicked the Els in playfulness and lighthearted bickering. Estel, especially, had bloomed a happy grin that hadn't wavered in its intensity for the entire day. Every once in a while, Gilraen's heart would pause slightly at the expression on his face, seeing in the young man an echo of the happy child that had once lived here.

Halbarad, it seemed, had lost some of his shyness around the Elves, for he had not yet deserted the dance floor. At the moment, he was lifting one of the kitchen helpers into the air as gracefully as he could, and from his face, she could see that he was enjoying himself and not worrying about anything at all. His partner was clearly having a good time. _This has been good for him, to see Estel at home with those he grew up with. It will help him understand him, and will be of great value later on._

At the very thought of her son, she turned again, and then again before she finally spotted him standing in a secluded corner speaking quietly and soberly with Mithrandir. The elderly man… Elf… oh, she still wasn't certain _what_ he was… was speaking, and Estel had that look on his face that he got when he was hearing something that he found interesting, yet troubling.

Gilraen felt her blood suddenly run cold in her veins, and her mind filled with an image that she hadn't seen in years: an older, quite bedraggled Estel was slogging through what looked like a swamp alone. He seemed to be looking for something – hunting, she realized. His hand was at his dagger even as he worked to maintain his balance in the bog.

"Míreth?"

She started violently when Glorfindel's hand landed softly on her shoulder, and the vision seemed to implode. "What?" She stared at him dumbly for a moment, struggling to remember where she was. "Yes?"

"Are you all right? I called your name, thinking perhaps I could convince you to dance, but you had a very strange look on your face…" Glorfindel moved closer, as if protectively. "This has been a long day for you. Perhaps…"

"No." Gilraen shook her head. "It's just…" She closed her eyes and shook her head again. "I'm all right. My mind was just… wandering." She opened her eyes again and gazed fixedly at Estel and Mithrandir. "I don't know why, but I get very uneasy seeing those two together."

She looked up into his face as his arm slowly pushed across her shoulders and gathered her close. "I can tell you, in all honesty, that Mithrandir is probably one of the most trust-worthy people in all of Arda," he told her solemnly. "I will not say that he is not a dangerous person to know or deal with, but his motives and his reasons are without question as honest and forthright as can be. He serves the causes of Light and Life, Gilraen. Never forget that."

Somehow, in light of what her unpredictable gift of foresight had granted her, Glorfindel's vote of confidence wasn't convincing enough to settle the worry that had descended.

oOoOo

"I'm certain that you're all wondering why I had these pieces of paper handed out last night, or why I asked that you each write down the sorrows or worries that you have suffered in the year that just ended. It is Dúnedain tradition that we begin our Yestarë by throwing all of these things that weigh us down into the first fire of the New Year, in the hopes that we can move beyond them into a more joyful and peaceful year to come." Gilraen lifted her own piece of paper to show how she had folded it. "And so I invite you to cast your cares away, and let them dissipate like smoke in the morning air."

She turned to the main hearth of the Hall of Fire and, with a few whispered words consigning her cares to the _Belain_, she tossed her paper into the flames. Behind her, Elrond moved forward, his own paper similarly folded, and tossed it in as well. The two of them then stepped aside as, one by one, nearly every resident of Imladris – whether in the Last Homely House itself or any of the outlying cottages or settlements – stepped forward and solemnly cast their cares into the flames.

Once that was done, a nod from her to Lindir put the first strains of a happy day tune into motion from the harp and tambour players, while the rest moved in patient lines past the sideboards filled with Dúnedain and Elven delicacies to break the fast. Gilraen caught Estel's eye just in time to convince him to stay Halbarad's hand when reaching for a slice of the _enninych_ and direct it to the hard-boiled eggs instead.

"That was a most mindful manner to begin the New Year," Elrond said over his shoulder as he carried his plate and hers to the raised dais on which his table had been placed. "I find it interesting that yesterday was a day for children and playful events, while today seems to be a day more for the adults."

"I had considered that it was a shame to burn those beautiful paper pieces; but now that I see the tradition in full and in practice, I must admit it was most appropriate to have special paper to carry those things into the air. Your experiments were most successful, my friend." Glorfindel settled himself next to Erestor on Elrond's left. "And are you not glad you did not spend the day reading yesterday?"

"I still bemoan the fact that young Halbarad has seen the Elves behaving more like adolescent Mortals," Erestor stated primly, and then let a small smile grace his lips, "but I must confess I enjoyed myself."

"_Ada_, we must remember these things and do them again!" Elladan exclaimed from beyond his father. "Surely Ardhon Meth must be upon us if Erestor is admitting to enjoying himself…"

"I can always take you to the sparring ring, youngling," Erestor growled threateningly.

"Oh, do…" Elrohir smiled and nodded happily. "He deserves it."

Elladan narrowed his eyes to glare at his twin. "You are no help."

"That depends upon who you think I should be trying to assist."

"Are they _always_ like this at home?" Gilraen heard Halbarad whisper to Estel, who choked on a bite of _enninoch_ and began coughing and laughing at the same time.

Elrond actually snickered as he turned to pound his foster-son on the back until the young man could breathe properly again. "You may be assured, Halbarad, that my sons are capable of being both very proper, and very _im_proper, depending on the circumstances and their mood at the time."

"Was it Elladan or Elrohir who wrote that silly doggerel with all the 'Tra-la-la's in it?" Glorfindel asked with an impish grin on his face. "I fear I have forgotten…"

"_That_ was Elladan," Elrohir stated dryly. "Have you honestly ever seen _me_ running around singing 'Tra-la-la-lally'?"

"Yes," responded Elrond, Erestor, Elladan, Estel, Mithrandir, Glorfindel and Gilraen in unison, after which it was Halbarad's turn to choke on his food and need assistance to be able to breathe and laugh at the same time.

oOoO

_There they are again_, Gilraen thought sourly, _thick as thieves, they've become_. Her gaze rested unhappily on the way that Estel and Mithrandir were slowly moving through the garden while deep in discussion. Estel was asking questions, and Mithrandir's answers were obviously causing him great concern.

Disheartened, she turned away, heading for the kitchens to finalize plans for the feast that evening. _There's nothing for it. Estel is a man now, the Chieftain in training, if not in fact. I have no more say over what he does and who he spends his time with than Halbarad does._ She sighed. _I wonder what Halbarad thinks of Estel's new 'friend'._

"You look distressed."

Gilraen peered into one of the shadows of the now-empty Hall of Fire and found Elladan, moving to his feet from where he had been sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in the family corner. He came close and bent slightly to take in her expression. "What is wrong?"

Gilraen didn't answer, she allowed her gaze to lead his to where the two meandered through the garden.

"Mithrandir?"

She nodded. "I suppose you're going to tell me now that he's completely trustworthy, and that I'm being foolish for…"

"Mithrandir is trustworthy insofar as his motives are concerned, but there is much about him that is hidden," Elladan admitted, his own gaze clearly caught by the interaction between the elderly-looking guest and his young foster-brother. "Do you remember that council meeting when _Adar_ had to leave Imladris for a time?" Gilraen nodded. "Mithrandir serves on that council with him."

She turned and gazed at the older man with more interest. Elrond had been very closed about both the nature and the composition of the meeting that had drawn him away from Imladris for the better part of two months. _So this Mithrandir shares some responsibilities with Elrond? Perhaps I have misjudged him, and Estel is well-served by a friendship._

"He is _Istar_, a wizard," Elladan continued softly. "He is powerful, although he does not brandish his power often or lightly. It is curious, however, the interest he is taking in Estel."

"That bothers you too, does it?"

The Elf nodded slowly. "Mithrandir does nothing without a purpose, and his comings and goings often mark changes to come."

"He would not harm Estel…" she began carefully.

"Nay." Elladan's hands took charge of hers and chafed it soothingly. "While I have a sense that he is anything but completely benign, he is definitely not malevolent. Trust me when I tell you that there is a great difference between being in _his_ presence and that of one of the Enemy's minions. Estel is as safe with Mithrandir as he can be anywhere."

Gilraen sighed again. "At least you and Glorfindel tell me the same thing. I cannot explain, however, why your words do not ease my heart."

"I should begin to wonder if you did _not_ worry, little Naneth," he told her with a pat to her hand. "The times do grow darker."

"I worry for you and El too, you know," she added, giving herself a mental shake and bringing her other hand to press his.

"For me more than El, I should hope…" Elladan's eyes began to sparkle playfully. "In light of that, then I can hope that one day, you will change your mind about my offer…"

"You forget that I saw you and Aranor's daughter dancing around the pole the other day," Gilraen grinned back at him. "Don't toy with my affections like that when it is obvious that your eye has already strayed elsewhere. I do believe I have lost my chance with you."

One of his hands escaped her grasp to press against his chest, and his words were spoken in a tone of blatantly contrived feeling. "You wound me deeply, seeming to offer what you denied me before now that I have conceded victory to my _adar_ and Glorfindel."

"You are a scoundrel, Elladan Elronnion," Gilraen said, laughing, "and you have managed to pull me from my dark mood with your wicked words."

"Have I indeed?" Elladan's smirk was supremely satisfied. "Then I have accomplished my purpose this afternoon. Is there any other manner in which I can serve you, Lady?"

"Never change, my friend," she said, feeling the chill of foresight rising at the back of her mind yet thankfully not gifting her with a vision this time. "I would ever want to count you among the very best of my friends in this life."

Her sudden shift in mood caught the Elf by surprise, and his eyebrows rose sharply before he bent and deposited a delicate kiss on her cheek. "I will be ever true to you, Gilraen, as a friend or whatever else you need me to be. Never you worry your head about that."

As he walked away, Gilraen let loose a deep breath of some relief, gave a final, worried glance out the glass doors at Estel, still deep in discussion with someone she now understood was a wizard, _whatever that is_, and returned to her original path of heading to the kitchens. Immersing herself with Aurin and the plans for the upcoming feast would be a good way to fill the rest of her day, and give her something else to do besides brood.

oOoOo

Gilraen knocked carefully on Elrond's office door, and opened it only after hearing the Elf within mutter his normal, "Come." Elrond looked up from his work, his brows knitting together at the sight of her. She knew she looked shocked and frightened, for indeed, that was exactly what she felt. "Gilraen?" He was on his feet and moving towards her quickly. "What has happened?"

Numbly she held out to him the short letter that had just been delivered to her:

_To my daughter Gilraen, _

_What happened during the furlough Aragorn and Halbarad spent in that palace of yours over Mettarë? And why has your son packed up his gear and left the Dúnedain? What are we supposed to do with our Chieftain gone and with no heir at all this time?_

_I await an answer, daughter._

_Dírhael_

She watched his face grow slack with the same kind of shock and concern as she herself had felt, and then waited until he raised his eyes from the letter to meet hers. "Where is our son, Elrond? Where is Estel?"

That he had no answer for her at all settled a weight of dread in her soul, one that would not lift for a very long time.


	15. The End of the Dream Part 1 of 2

The music Lindir and his student were weaving from the musician's corner of the Hall of Fire was spectacular, as usual, but it no longer was as entrancing or stimulating as it once had been. Gilraen lay aside her mending – one of the silken undershirts that would be given to an Imladrin warrior heading for the outer fences sometime soon – and, pulling her shawl a little tighter about her shoulders, rose and let her feet carry her out into the garden.

The moon above shone down with a bright, silver glow on the newly awakened trees and shrubs, the pale light kissing the delicate fresh stalks of grass just barely raising their heads from the ground. It was the evening of Estel's birthday, a day which for years now had been one of quiet worry and grieving. Never again would Gilraen wonder how Elrond had born the long years and decades of silence from his sons, for her own had been gone for over twenty years without a single word.

Only once, nearly a decade earlier, had she heard anything at all concerning him: the Lady Galadriel had sent a message to her unexpectedly, detailing a vision that she had received in her infamous mirror, and telling of Estel being cheered on as a victorious general… somewhere. She had been grateful to the Lady of Lothlórien, whom she had never met, for having sent word that Estel was indeed alive and evidently well. But still, she had grieved that Estel hadn't thought to send his own greeting.

"He is well," Elrond's deep voice spoke quietly from the shadows near the door, not quite startling her. "I would know it if he were not."

She should have known that he would be waiting for her out here. As the years had passed since Estel's strange disappearance, Glorfindel had slowly relinquished her company on those evenings when her mood would spiral into despair to Elrond, who understood all too well what she was going through. He was no fool; he was well aware that watching yet another birthday pass with no word was certain to cause her grief. "I know," she replied without turning all the way to look at him. "I hope you will forgive me if I tell you that it doesn't help much, my lord."

"You need not apologize or beg forgiveness. Knowing that my sons still lived never helped make their continued absence that much easier for me to bear either," he admitted, moving from the shadows to come to stand next to her. "But I offer my knowledge to you nonetheless, as it is the only comfort I have to give you; that, a shoulder to lean on if you wish, and an assurance that Estel loves you dearly. He will eventually return to us as long as his health and luck hold."

Gilraen looked up into the night sky, her eyes fixing on the bright star that was, if legend were true, the ship piloted by Elrond's father. Such things, accepted as simple facts by those who surrounded her, still seemed utterly fantastic. "But what is he doing in far-off lands, and why for so long?" she asked, her voice almost quarrelsome in asking a question she had posed to him hundreds of times already, a question for which she knew all too well he had no real answer. "Doesn't he have enough to do watching over his own people that he should seek out adventures beneath strange stars?"

"I am convinced that he has a purpose to what he does, even if we cannot penetrate his reasons from this distance. Estel is far too level-headed and practical to run off to see distant lands for no good reason other than simply adventuring. For one thing, he knows well that the Enemy still seeks…"

"Please don't." She turned and put a hand on an upper arm that stopped Elrond's spoken thoughts immediately. "I don't want to think of how close he may or may not be to the power that has ever bent its will on his destruction."

Elrond's hand covered hers. "And yet he survives despite this, Gilraen, and, if Galadriel's mirror is to be trusted, even thrives. I know I have told you this many times, but repetition does not make it any less true: we must trust to the training he received and to his native intelligence to keep him safe until he deems the time right to turn his steps homeward once more."

Finally she gave into the temptation to lean ever so slightly into his upper arm, to take whatever comfort she could from his physical proximity and constant strength. But this year, she had promised herself upon arising from her bed that morning, she would not weep; and although it was difficult, she restrained the urge to sniffle and bury her face and let the tears roll. The prolonged absence was no easier on Elrond than it was on her; it wasn't fair that he had to buoy her flagging spirits as well as his own on days such as his.

"Remind me to scold the Els the next time I see them for doing this to you many, many times," she stated vehemently, deliberately tossing her head in a show of spirit that was only halfway believable, even to her. "Leaving family behind for unreasonably long stretches of time, during which it is certain that they encounter dangers beyond imagination, is simply not acceptable behavior from well-behaved sons, even for those who completed their majority centuries ago."

Elrond chuckled softly and slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I should like to see you chastise them for that, and watch their faces as they recognize _why_ you chide them. Perhaps they would take such criticism better from you than from me."

"Criticism? Whom do you seek to put in their places, Gilraen?" Elladan had approached from the direction of the open door to the Hall of Fire.

She turned in the circle of Elrond's embrace. "You," she answered with a glower, "you and your brother both."

In the pale light of the moon, it was easy to see how Elladan's brows rose sharply at her statement. "Me? What did I do?"

Gazing into those ancient eyes, Gilraen understood why her fervid statement had made Elrond laugh. There was no way in all of Arda for a relative infant, as she was, to tell an immortal being thirty times her age about something they had done for centuries before she was even born. "Maybe not criticism," she hedged, and smiled inwardly to feel Elrond's hold on her tighten slightly, "but I would ask you to promise me something."

"What is that?" The brows had come back into a more safe zone, and his gaze was concerned yet amused.

"Promise me that you will not leave your father for decades at a stretch without sending him word from time to time to know you are well." A rebellious tear escaped her and slid onto her cheek. "Until you are a parent, you will have no idea how hard it is to bear the years of silence from one you love…"

Elladan's brow rose again, and his gaze rose with it immediately, no doubt to catch and hold that of his father. In the space of a little moment, the expression in his eyes had gone from amused to tragic and then to remorseful. By the time he looked down at her again, he was moving toward her. Unexpectedly, he reached out and claimed her from his father's arms and drew her into a tight embrace of his own.

"Gilraen, I cannot promise that either El or I will not once more end up in circumstances that make it very difficult to get word back to my _adar_, but I can promise you that I will try; that I will remember your pain this day and that too-long silences are… difficult... for those left behind" He rocked her to and fro a few times, making it all that much harder for her to keep a tight rein on her tears. "I am so sorry you must go through this, little Naneth." Then she felt him look up, and knew he was looking at Elrond again. "I am sorry that we gave you such pain, _Adar_. We were blinded by our own pain, and disregarded yours…"

"You have long since been forgiven, my son," Elrond replied softly, although Gilraen could hear just how much emotion he was holding back. "I am just grateful that your blindness has finally lifted."

"Never forget that I saw your father's face the first time he heard you laughing after you brought Estel and me here," she said, turning her face so that she wasn't speaking into his chest. Elrond was too quick to forgive, and she was feeling protective. "And I saw his tears, when you didn't. If you love your father at all, El, you won't do that to him again. Ever."

"You are right, I will not – at least, not deliberately or out of madness." She felt him brush his face against the hair at the top of her head. "If there is a way to do so, I will send word home on a far more regular basis. Will this satisfy?"

She nodded against the soft velvet of his doublet and then pushed herself away from him so she could look at him again. "It will do."

"Come." Elrond slid his arm around her waist. "It grows cold, and you do not weather the chills as you once did."

"And Lindir is truly doing some of his best music tonight," Gilraen added, rubbing a finger under her nose in a physical effort to rein in the emotions. "He deserves a more attentive audience, not one wandering about in the cold night air."

"Do you feel a little better?" Elrond asked her in a quiet voice.

She shook her head. "No, but I have found comfort in the kind people around me that will help me bear things again for a while without breaking." She nudged him gently with her shoulder. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome." He bent to whisper in her ear, "And thank you for defending me to my son. May the _Belain_ grant that he actually heard you this night and keeps his promise to you."

She whispered back, "My pleasure, my lord."

oOoOo

The Midsummer festival passed again, celebrated with the feast of seasoned venison and fresh summer vegetables that was tradition for that time, as well as the spirited dances that brought the entire valley together around a bonfire in the middle of the courtyard. The late summer days grew long, hot and sticky, as they generally did as the season sizzled to a close and the long days of harvest drew nigh.

The sound of the welcoming song greeting someone making their way down the narrow trail into the valley floated in through the open library window and slowly sank into Gilraen's awareness. Distracted from transferring totals from her wax tablet to the formal report of the previous month's household business, she looked up and over at Erestor, who continued carefully reading and underlining parts of the document in front of him, apparently without giving the implications of the song the slightest thought. "Were we expecting visitors?"

"Not to my knowledge," he replied without shifting in the slightest except to continue to run his finger down to the next line of writing, "but then, it is nearly _Laer_. This _is_ the season when we would get the greatest number of visitors, you know."

She glanced at her housekeeping ledger and wax tablet, then rose. "I'll be back shortly, as soon as I've satisfied my curiosity as to who approaches."

"I am certain Elrond would summon you if he knew you would either know or be interested in the visitor," the Chief Counselor stated dryly, finally raising his head and looking across the table at her with serious grey eyes. "You look to be nearly finished with your monthly report; why not spend the few minutes finalizing it before you dash off?"

Gilraen's face broke into an indulgent smile. "You really are a task-master, aren't you?"

"I merely understand how interruptions can make it extremely difficult to finish important tasks left pending," he replied with an arched brow. "Should these visitors be of interest to you, it will take hours, if not days, for you to return to your duties."

"Have I _ever_ neglected my duties to Elrond or the House?" Gilraen demanded, deliberately putting her stylus in its slot and closing the top of the ink bottle.

Erestor slowly and deliberately placed his pen aside and turned his attention more fully to her. "To my knowledge, I have never heard Elrond complain of your being derelict in fulfilling your obligations," he answered with a sigh. "But you have been distractible of late. Knowing this, it would be better to set aside your curiosity – which you know very well will be satisfied soon enough one way or the other – and get that report ready to turn in."

"I will return as soon as I…"

"Are you willing to make a wager on that?" Erestor asked with a dry tone.

She blinked in surprise at the very idea. "And what would I have to wager that you would want?"

He gazed at her with narrowed eyes. "A day of your time helping me organize some of the more recent documents that we have received."

"But…" Gilraen stared at him with wide eyes. "What about Menester? Isn't he your assistant?"

"He is," Erestor said with a shallow and regal bow of the head. "But his time is occupied in other matters of late, leaving this task undone far longer than I would wish. So…" He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do we have a wager?"

"That I will return directly and finish my report?"

"Yes. The moment you know the identity of our visitor, you return and finish your work."

"And if I don't, I owe you a day of my time sorting through papers."

"Yes, exactly."

"And what if I _do_ return promptly? What do I win from you?"

A very small smile formed at the corners of his mouth. "Think, child. Have you nothing you would wish from me? A service? Perhaps finding a volume you have wanted to read…"

"The Lays of Beleriand?" Gilraen's mood lifted immediately. Glorfindel had been telling her of the beauty of the poetry in that volume for years, but she'd never been able to locate the book when searching the stacks on her own.

Erestor's eyes widened. "I would have thought you would have read that one already, perhaps not long after I had Estel read it and write a lay of his own in the same style."

"I read Estel's assignment, but by then you had already put the book back. Glorfindel, however, has been telling me tales…"

As she had expected, Erestor snorted softly at the very mention of the Battle Master's name, and Gilraen smiled. Perhaps someday she would be made privy to the reason behind their constant battle of wits and endless exchange of barbs. "He _would_ tell tales…"

"Tales of the stories told in that book that I wasn't aware of," she continued as if he'd said nothing. "Since we seem to be wagering things of some value, perhaps you could find a copy of it…"

"Very well. A day's worth of your time organizing documents against an hour's worth of my time locating a copy of the Lays of Beleriand which can be taken outside the bounds of the library." He eyed her sternly. "Are we agreed?"

"We are." She stacked the wax tablets on top of the now closed household ledger, placed neatly at her place at the table, and rose. "I will see you in just a few moments then."

Erestor merely lifted his quill and began running his finger down the text of the document that still sat in front of him. "Perhaps. We have yet to see if that will come to pass."

"Cynic."

"Only if my life experiences do not hold out my predictions as the most likely to occur." He looked up and finally smiled indulgently at her. "But then, I should not treat you as one of my students. Go on with you then, little one, before your curiosity makes you do things you know you should not do."

"Master Erestor." Gilraen did her best imitation of a proper Elven bow, her hand pressed to her heart, and then headed for the door with a light, quick step. It had been a good day, although quiet; having a little something out of the ordinary to break it up would be a good idea. And she _would _return quickly, because she really wanted to get a chance to read that book of poetry so she could discuss it knowledgeably with Glorfindel over lunch the next few days.

By the time she had arrived in the foyer, she could hear the answering song from whoever it was approaching the bridge over the Bruinen: a full-throated alto, accompanied with a rich baritone. Gilraen felt her heart turn over in shock and emotion when she recognized the latter voice, and she abandoned her dignity to gather up her skirts and run as fast as she could for the open door and the courtyard beyond.

Sliding to a halt on the portico, she could see that several others had been surprised into doing something very similar. Elrohir was coming around the corner of the stable at a trot, tossing leather traces onto a hook set into the building. From the training fields, she could see Glorfindel approaching at a dead run. And from behind her, she heard the whisper of robes and soft leather on the paving stones that told her that even Elrond himself had felt compelled to greet these newcomers.

"Estel!" she breathed as the hoof beats against the rocky trail beyond the walls came clear, and then two horses were trotting into the courtyard. In the front, in a silver-grey suede riding habit, was a radiant-looking Arwen, while following behind was Estel, looking very Elvish in a set of leather armor that gleamed as if newly-made. Gilraen ran past Arwen with her hands outstretched to her son. "Estel!" she cried as she threw herself at him the moment his feet hit the ground.

"Nana," he breathed, catching her up and holding her close. "I've missed you so!"

"No more than I've missed you! You were gone for so long…" Her throat choked as sobs of relief and frustration and pent-up anger all surged together.

His arms tightened. "I'm home, Nana, and I won't be going any further than our villages in The Angle and in Eriador. I'm ready to be Chieftain now. And I… we… have news…"

"Arwen, what in the name of the One have you done?" Elrond's voice exclaimed from behind her in a tone so stricken that Gilraen spun herself out of Estel's grasp to see what was wrong.

"_Ada_," Arwen had her hand out to her father, whose progress towards her had frozen at the bottom of the steps. "Please…"

Elrond's face had lost every last bit of color in it, and his expression was frantic. "What were you thinking? How could you…" As if suddenly aware that his daughter hadn't ridden into Imladris alone, he looked up and over at Estel, his face clouding over into something that resembled the rage that had filled her own father's face upon hearing of her intent to marry Arathorn. "You." The single word was in that hair-raising flat tone of voice that betrayed Elven fury.

"_Ada_…" Estel said and took a step towards his foster-father.

Elrond's hand whipped out, grasped Arwen's upper arm tightly and dragged her to him. "I will speak to you later," he said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Arwen, we will speak inside. _Now_." Not letting up on his grip on her arm, he virtually dragged Arwen with him back up the stairs and through the door of the House.

Gilraen turned to stare at her son and couldn't help but note the expression in his face as he watched Arwen and Elrond disappear into the House. She'd seen that kind of expression before, and it worried her even more. "What is going on?" she demanded.

"Nana…" he sighed, running a hand down his face in dismay. "Arwen and I…"

"What have you done?" Suddenly, the implications of the circumstances of his arrival in the company of Elrond's daughter came clear, and like Elrond, she took tight hold of his upper arm. "Estel, please don't tell me…"

"We're betrothed," he said in a tired voice, although the look in his eye as he looked back at her was anything but remorseful. If anything, it was defiant.

"What?" Gilraen was glad she was holding onto him, for her legs bent as if to dump her on the ground. "When? Where?"

"Yes, brother. When and where and how did you convince our sister to wed with you?" Elrohir's voice was tightly controlled, and he seemed to loom bigger and more threatening as he walked over to join them.

Estel eyed his foster-brother carefully, then turned to reply to Gilraen. "It was a few days before… It was in Lothlórien. I had stopped there on my way here, thinking only to purchase more supplies and rest in a _talan_ where I wouldn't have to sleep with one eye open for orcs. The Lady Galadriel was generous, however; she sent me a fine set of clothing to wear to dinner and told me that the view of her realm was best from a hill named Cerin Amroth. When I got there, she… Arwen… was there… and we talked for a while… and…" He swallowed hard and gazed at her earnestly, clearly imploring her to understand. "The more we spoke, the more we realized… or the more she realized…"

"So you did not go there deliberately to seduce her, at least," Elrohir stated with a sad sigh. "But you still did nothing to prevent her from making her choice."

"I… I love her, brother," Estel said very quietly, "I have for years, ever since I saw her for the first time. And I was delighted that, for some reason, she seemed to suddenly see into me this time and find something she could love as well. I admit we spoke about what this would mean – that she would be giving up her immortality – but she told me that after all the centuries she'd spent lonely, a short time together with the one who spoke to her heart would be preferable to meeting the End of Days alone. She warned me, however, that you two and _Ada_ wouldn't be happy at all, which is why we came together to tell you."

"What were you _thinking_? I told you to leave off your dreams of her years ago," Gilraen said in frustration, shaking her head at her son's obstinacy. "And Elrond himself told me he warned you to stay away from her long ago. And now…" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Estel! What have you done?"

"I have found the person I want by my side for the rest of my life, Nana," he said simply. "And she feels the same way about me. I remember the stories you told me about you and my _adar_, and how Dírhael objected…"

"That's different! This is more than simple disapproval. Arwen is _Elvenkind_, Estel!"

"Not anymore." Elrohir's voice was bleak. "Father saw it the moment he laid eyes on her, and so did I. Arwen has made her choice, and given up the life of the Firstborn. It is done and cannot now be undone."

Gilraen stared. "What?"

He gazed back at her in frustration. "You have forgotten that the blood that runs through you and Estel that make you family is the blood of my Uncle Elros – _Ada's_ brother. He, like Lúthien before him and now Arwen, chose to set aside his Elven heritage to embrace the life of the Second-born. He died more than an Age ago."

"I hadn't forgotten…" she complained.

"Oh, _Ada_ is not going to take this news well at all," Elrohir said thoughtfully, looking back over his shoulder at the House. "This will hit him at least as hard as _Naneth's_ sailing did."

"But Arwen's not dying…"

"Yes, Gilraen, she _is_… now. Every moment she exists, every breath she takes, is one tiny step closer to her death – she who was born to endure to the very end." Elrohir turned a bleak eye to Estel. "Arwen is right: El is not going to be much happier about this than _Ada_ either, so do not be surprised if you do not find much welcome in your return home this time, little brother, and little celebration from anyone here. Where you see a continuation of life in your future joining with my sister, the Elves can see only a life cut far too short. I would blame you entirely for this, but Arwen is no fool. She knew all too well what she did when she did it. You did not make the choice for her, nor did you force her hand. As much as he may rage and despair, _Ada_ knows there is nothing he can do now."

Estel swallowed hard. Gilraen felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck at the thought of Estel having to face an Elrond in a full fury. She had seen the Master of Imladris angry only a few times before, and knew his temper was nothing to want aimed in one's own direction.

oOoOo

Dinner that evening was a quiet and somber affair, with neither Elrond nor Arwen in attendance and neither El in a particularly good mood. Nobody was surprised, therefore, when everyone eschewed filing into the Hall for Fire for music or storytelling in favor of seeking their own chambers. Estel followed Gilraen to her suite and finally began to tell her of what he had done for all those years – of the white city of stone in the far south, of the brutal Corsairs and their campaigns of terror against the sea-folk in those southern lands, of the horse-lords on the grasslands of Rohan, a land she'd never heard of before.

He spoke with her late into the night, telling of battles he'd been part of, of the politics that had drawn him in and from which he then had to extricate himself. He spoke of lands even further to the south, where the skin of the citizens was burned dark, where the Dark Lord held a heavy sway over the rulers. He spoke of lands to the uttermost east, and the wildernesses that lay between the pockets of civilization. He spoke movingly, as if each place had come to hold some meaning, some worth, to him.

And when he was finished, all Gilraen could do was ask him, "Why?"

"Why what, Nana?"

"Why did you go – and why did you stay away for so long?"

Estel sighed heavily and ran his hand down his face in what she could see was becoming a habitual gesture of frustration and weariness. "It was brought to my attention that if I am ever to hope to rule over others, I need to become familiar with the many flavors and textures of the hearts of men; and what better way to learn these things than to travel widely."

"Mithrandir." Gilraen spat the name, having long since suspected the wizard's complicity in Estel's sudden decision to vanish. "_He_ told you this."

"He spoke most convincingly of my having need to educate myself on a broader scale than even Master Erestor had managed," he allowed slowly.

"Do not the Dúnedain have such a plentiful variety of hearts to learn? Was it necessary to be gone for so long that even Halbarad begins to despair of ever seeing you again?"

Estel's look at her grew sharp and wary. "Halbarad? He has?"

"His mother wrote to me and told me of the mood of the Rangers. Halbarad's fear is a common one in The Angle, and the morale amongst the men there is flagging badly." She watched him for a long, silent moment. "You were gone over twenty years, my son."

"I know this…"

"But you are back now," she continued, deliberately using a more contented tone of voice. "My father will be more than grateful to turn over your duties back to you. He has written at least three times a year, complaining that he is too old to be leading patrols."

"I am back now, and I will be handling my duties properly from now on, I swear it," he promised.

It was her turn to give him a sharp look of skepticism. "No more adventures off in unnamed lands?"

"No," he shook his head. "That time is finished now." He yawned. "It is good to be home, Nana. I'm sorry I worried you so."

"I think it would not be so bad if you didn't come home having done exactly what your father and I both told you _not_ to do." She frowned worriedly. "You have not seen him angry, Estel, not as I have. He has only been displeased with you before now, and I have reason to understand the difference, where you do not."

"I know how Dírhael gets…"

Gilraen shook her head. "My father's temper is a bad one, this is true, but there is nothing more frightening than an Elf who is truly, _truly_ angry. I have seen such things only very rarely since I've lived here, and never were you around – for which I was grateful at the time."

"I will endure whatever he feels necessary to say to me, Nana," Estel answered with quiet patience, "because Arwen is worth whatever price I have to pay. Please understand: I don't regret having met her again and fallen in love with her all over again. I will never regret it. She is…" His eyes got soft for a moment, and seemed to see only an inner vision. "She completes me." He refocused on her. "And I think you understand _that_."

Whatever had happened to him in those far away lands had mellowed him like storage in an oaken barrel would age and refine good Dorwinion. His gaze had a depth to it now that it hadn't had before, and Gilraen found herself shaken to realize that the son in front of her was a mature, experienced, seasoned man now. Gone forever was the innocent child, or even the naïve youth. The Estel before her was a decorated war hero in some of those faraway places, a proven leader of men.

What was more, she knew exactly the emotions he was feeling. She'd felt them herself, years ago as a maiden suddenly being courted by the Chieftain's heir before she'd even achieved her majority. Arathorn had been the other half of her soul, and had completed _her_. How could she be angry or disappointed when Estel had been lucky enough to find his other half?

She could only hope that all this time away, all this patience and wisdom that had suddenly awoken in her son, would work to his advantage in the end; because in the back of her mind, she could feel the pressure of a gathering doom – and she wasn't certain that it emanated from any Dark Lord.

_Sindarin Vocabulary_

_Adar – Father (fam. Form – Ada)_

_Belain – the Valar (the Powers – the Gods)_

_Laer - summer_


	16. The End of the Dream Part 2 of 2

Frantic knocking on her suite door brought Gilraen out of a less than restful sleep when the sun had not yet topped the eastern cliffs. "Just a moment," she called, dragging her blanket around her thin sleeping gown for warmth and propriety's sake, and then hurried to the door. Outside, Glorfindel stood in his armor. "What is it?" she cried, shaken. "Why…?"

"Arwen has insisted that I accompany her back to Lothlórien immediately, and that we leave in but a few moments," he explained in hushed but hurried words. "I wanted to tell you that she sends warning to you that her father is in high dudgeon, and to avoid him until his temper has cooled."

"Elrond?" Still half-asleep, she was having trouble following his thoughts. "He's angry, I know, but…"

"She said that she has never seen him in such a state before," he continued, grasping Gilraen's upper arm gently yet firmly. "She worries about Estel's interview with him this morning, but cannot bring herself to remain in the house at this point. She and Estel spoke together late last night, and they decided that this would be the best way for them to act at this point: that she return to Lothlórien for a time, until Elrond has made peace with what has happened."

"What is… Why is…" Gilraen could hardly formulate her questions.

"He is not accepting that Arwen has made a choice of which he does not approve, Míreth. I do not know what he intends to tell Estel when he sees him later this morning, but Arwen worries."

That penetrated. "Elrond would never harm Estel," she exclaimed with conviction. "He sees him as a son."

"A son who has betrayed his trust," Glorfindel warned softly. "Walk carefully these halls until my return, _meleth_, please! Do nothing that would set him off again. Elrond's temper burns hotter than that of most Elves, and is nothing to toy with. Promise me!"

"I promise," she agreed easily, suddenly wishing that he were remaining close. "How long will you be gone?"

He sighed. "We are a small party, but the road is perilous. I should be no more than eight weeks gone."

"Hurry then, and hurry back." Gilraen slipped her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug. "And tell Arwen…" She hesitated. What does one tell the betrothed of one's son when the betrothal itself was evidently causing so much pain and grief? "Tell her I wish her well." As distressed as this development was making her, she had seen that look in Estel's eye that had once resided in Arathorn's when thinking or speaking about _her_. And she'd seen a similar look in Arwen's.

Glorfindel's arms wrapped about her and squeezed her hard against the shell of his armor, and he dropped a kiss on her cheek before releasing her to step back. "Be well and be careful. Remember what I told you."

"I will."

The pressure of that gathering doom surged in the back of her mind as she watched him stalk quickly down the corridor, heading she knew for the courtyard and Asfaloth. Too awake now to even attempt to lie down again, she retreated behind her door and made her way to her private bath to prepare for a day that held far too many questions and worries.

oOoOo

Entering the library, Gilraen paused in the doorway before approaching Erestor, who sat at their table, already with his first document sitting in front of him. He glanced up into her face and immediately put down his quill. "Is all well with you?"

"You've heard the news?"

The grey eyes that watched her were sad. "Indeed. I doubt there is a single person in Imladris who has not." He tipped his head to the side. "I have also heard that Arwen has already departed."

"Yes. She asked Glorfindel to take her home to Lothlórien."

Strangely enough, Erestor winced slightly at the mention of the far away woods being Arwen's "home." He sighed. "And Estel?"

Gilraen made her way to her seat and sank into it. "I don't know. From what Glorfindel said, Elrond is to speak to him this morning. Arwen worries…"

"She should." The two words were brittle and harsh, but the stern expression quickly faded to concern. "You are pale."

"I worry too."

"I think this would be an excellent moment to point out to you that you did not return to your report promptly," he pointed out with a quick glance at the wax tablet, inkwell, quill and household ledger all sitting exactly where she had left them.

Surprised that he would even remember such a thing at a time like this, Gilraen could only stare at him mutely, her mouth agape.

"Mind you, I am well aware that you had good reason for not returning, but reasons and excuses were not part of the wager we made," Erestor continued implacably. "Therefore, you owe me a day's worth of your time."

"Master Erestor…"

"Peace, child." His expression softened. "We will agree upon a day and time for you to make good on your debt, but not until your heart is better settled than it is this day. It may be that this debt to me will work for the good, for it will give you something else to think about instead of allowing your imagination to run completely amok."

"Glorfindel warned me to stay clear of Elrond." She put the statement out, and then waited for his reaction and response. "Arwen told him she'd never seen her father so angry."

She didn't have long to wait. The grey eyes grew wary, and then looked away. "Glorfindel is correct to be concerned and warn you. Elrond's temper fully displayed is enough to shake even the hearts of Kings." He folded his hands together and laid them atop his document before looking back at her again. His mien reminded her of when he had lectured Estel years ago. "You may not believe this, but while Elrond was the twin who found the most comfort in the habits and slower life of the _Edhil_, he was also the more… explosive… of the two brothers, temper-wise. Elros, for all his love of snap decisions and the speed at which the Second-born live their lives, had far more patience with the people around him. Elrond never failed to have expectations and then react badly when the others did not meet them – sometimes to the point that one group did not speak to the other for years, until time had all but removed the reasons for rancor and Elrond could at last forgive them for wishing to live their own lives."

Gilraen's eyes widened. "Really? In all the years I've known him…"

"Ah." Erestor raised a single forefinger and cut short her statement. "But you have known him but for a very short time, in our way of thinking, little one. What is more, you have never truly seen him fully angry, for he learned an Age ago to control that temper as much as possible. I have known him for the better part of two Ages, and I _have_ seen him lose his temper completely. It is not something I would want to see again.

"Elrond's argument with Isildur over the fate of the Enemy's Ring when still reeling from the loss of his King and best friend – the consequences of that which we still face this day – proved to him once and for all that fully exercising his temper could be an extreme liability, one he could no longer afford. Then, with Gil-Galad gone to _Bannoth_, Elrond became the de-facto leader of the Golodhrim in Ennor, as Gil-Galad had named him his heir. He had made this place a refuge and stronghold, and in the centuries of this Age since that terrible day has been responsible for the welfare of many beyond his immediate reach.

"Do you never wonder that it is _this_ library to which all information about the Enemy travels?" His grey gaze grew serious. "Here, with our policy of ever sheltering any who are in need, regardless of race or circumstance, we are the recipients of information that other, strictly Elven, realms would not be. It is our responsibility to then see that this information is received by those who would most benefit from it. To direct this task takes a level of patience and tolerance foreign to Elrond's nature, for people of all races – including our own – tend to be head-strong and stubborn, more often than not doing the exact thing that is the least wise for all concerned. And he must face this stubbornness and stupidity and still make these actions work for the good of all."

Erestor sighed. "For a very long time, his patience has been a deliberate practice, and one he must work at constantly to maintain, even now. If, as Arwen says, his ire is fully aroused by her unfortunate and sad choice of fate, then you would be best served delivering that…" he nodded at the stack of items that comprised her pending household report, "…at a moment when you know for certain that he is out of his office."

"Surely he wouldn't…" she began, only to interrupted again.

"Or, better still, give the report to one of the Els, who no doubt are the only ones who may approach him safely at the moment." In a rare gesture of comfort, Erestor reached out across the table to lay a hand over hers. "Please. Trust those of us who have known him the longest, and follow Glorfindel's advice. At least he had the good sense to warn you before leaving."

"What about Estel?" she asked again, now thoroughly frightened. Her first impression at meeting the Master of Imladris all those many years ago had been correct after all: Elrond was an intimidating man for good reason. The _gwaedh-vellon_ who had helped her raise her son had another, darker side to his nature, and one to be feared – and it was _this_ man who would be dealing with their son in but a little while!

Erestor shook his head. "I cannot predict his reactions, Gilraen. His temper is fickle and can take many forms. I suggest you finish that report quickly, so that you might be available to comfort Estel when his interview is concluded." He made a wry, resigned face. "He will most likely need you. In fact…" He set aside the document he had set for his morning reading and reached across the table for the ledger and all that was stacked on it. "Go on with you. I shall finish this for you, for you are far too distraught."

"Erestor…"

"Go, child." His face was genuinely kind. "You will not be able to concentrate until you know what transpires between Elrond and Estel, and you know it. Come back when you do, if you are in any shape to do so, and you may take back your obligation."

Not entirely certain that this was the best idea, Gilraen nodded and rose from her seat again. "Thank you, my friend."

"Be of good hope, Gilraen. All may not be as dire as you expect."

Somehow, she doubted that. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the opportunity to go back to her suite and splash some cold water on her face. Hopefully it would help her clear her mind and prepare herself for whatever would come next. But that opportunity evaporated as, in turning the corner into the family wing, she met Estel coming towards her dressed once more in his armor, his sword at his waist, his bow and quiver on his back, and his pack in his hands. "Estel?" she asked with a worried frown. "Don't you have an appointment to speak with your father?"

"I already have. It was a very short interview, thankfully. He is _very_ angry. And you were right: I have _never_ seen him angry before, and it _is_ a frightening sight."

The look on his face as he spoke chilled her. "What did he say?"

"He let me know of his feelings about our betrothal in no uncertain terms, and set the criteria I must meet before he would agree to a marriage." Estel's tone mirrored, no doubt, the cold, merciless tone of the Elf he had just spoken to.

"But…" Gilraen waved vaguely at his garb. "Where are you going _now_?"

Estel looked at her, his gaze filled with pain. "Nana, I have been gone from my duties with the Dúnedain for over twenty years. And for these past few weeks, I have been avoiding returning to those duties by staying with the Elves or traveling with Arwen. The time has come for me to go home and do what I was born to do."

"_Now?_" The idea that not only was Arwen gone that morning, but that Estel wouldn't even rest a few days before setting off again himself was downright shocking. "_Already?_"

"To delay any longer would be to do our people a further disservice, Nana. I have placed their needs behind my own for too long, and the time has come to rectify that error." He bent and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "I will write you regularly, I promise. At breakfast, El told me of your discussion with him the other night, and he told me that I would answer to him if I didn't. I already have _Ada_ angry at me; I don't need the Els' temper flaring at me as well."

"Oh, be safe and be well, my son, and come back for a visit when you feel you have the time to do so!" Gilraen wrapped her arms around her son – her very tall, very grown-up son who looked far too much like Arathorn in that moment – and squeezed hard. "Give my love to your grandparents and your cousin. I would have sent letters with you, had I known you were going to leave so soon."

"_Navaer_, Nana. Be well." With a quick hug of his own, Estel stepped around her and walked with a heavy step through the Hall of Fire and toward the front door.

Bereft and lost, with her son leaving, Glorfindel gone, and Elrond too dangerous to approach, she made her way out into the garden beyond the Hall of Fire and found a friendly bench on which to sit. Around her, the first blooms of summer were already filling the air with delicate perfume, but it made no difference. Estel was back safely, but everything else seemed to have gone suddenly very wrong.

oOoOo

Gilraen had never felt so insecure in her own home before. Life in Imladris moved on at its normal, sedate pace, but did so without the obvious guidance of its Master. Elrond, much to her relief, remained secluded in his office for the greater share of the time, and took all of his meals in his private suite. The only ones who were brave enough to visit him regularly in his lairs were his sons, who often carried with them questions needing the Master's answer and returned with replies.

Without Glorfindel's comforting presence in the House to offset the tension of Elrond's continued temper, Gilraen found herself grateful for the gentle manner in which both of the Els treated her. Elladan informed her that he was well aware of the fact that she had warned Estel away from Arwen more than once, and neither he nor Elrohir held her in the least bit responsible for what was very clearly considered a new tragedy in a family that had borne far too many such events.

Evenings in the Hall of Fire were once more filled with music, but it tended to have a sad overtone to it. Lindir, it seemed, had long been smitten by Arwen, and her betrothal to Estel had hit the harpist quite hard. One or the other of the Els made it a point of being Gilraen's escort in the evening, walking in the gardens and talking with her if she didn't wish to sit and listen to the music any longer. Both Maeniel and Aurin took extra time during the daytime to make certain she knew that, although their disappointment in both Estel and Arwen ran deep, they still considered her a good friend.

As Erestor had predicted, the mental discipline required to assist in the organization of documents that was owed him proved an excellent way of occupying her mind so she didn't worry too much. In fact, Gilraen found the task enjoyable enough, especially since she was now working directly with Erestor in his area of expertise, that she gave him far more than a single day's worth of her time. The somber Counselor's dry wit and sharp mind buoyed her mood, as did the gift of a copy of the Lays of Beleriand.

Nevertheless, Gilraen felt Elrond's absence greatly. Avoiding him, knowing him to be grieving, was difficult. Several times she was tempted to simply brave the moods that had driven most of the rest of the staff away in order to offer him comfort, but caution and a sense that Glorfindel and Erestor wouldn't have warned her against such a thing without good reason prevailed.

Eventually, however, the next monthly report was completed and needed to be tendered; but this time, she could find no sons of Elrond to run interference for her. She voiced her quandary to Erestor, who told her that the Els had been called away unexpectedly to one of the outlying settlements for the day. His advice to her was to simply watch and, when she was fairly certain the office was unoccupied, place the report on the desk and depart immediately.

After supper that evening, then, instead of settling in the Hall of Fire with her sewing for Maeniel, Gilraen went back to her suite, collected the report, and then walked slowly into the administrative wing of the House. The door to Elrond's office was slightly ajar, and the space beyond appeared utterly dark. She breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that he had retired to his rooms for the evening and moved quietly forward and pushed the door open.

She had been in this room many, many times over the years of her residency, so she didn't need much more light than the bit of torchlight from the corridor to show her where the desk was. She had just put the report on the desk and had turned to leave when a sudden flare of a strange, blue light in the corner of the room startled her. She whirled to find herself gazing at Elrond, who was seated in one of the comfortable chairs that normally sat in front of the hearth. The unusual light came from a crystal that she had always imagined purely decorative as it sat in a small bracket on the wall.

"I wondered when you would become brave enough to come in," he said quietly, a strange light flickering in his eyes.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you," she stammered, backing away, truly frightened of him for the first time since her first meeting with him. "I'll just…"

"Come in and sit down, Gilraen," was the soft command. "But please close the door first. You and I need to talk."

That strange light in his eyes didn't flicker at all as he waited for her to turn and comply. With knees nearly knocking, she did as she was bid and then made her way over to her normal seat in front of his fire. She perched herself on the very edge of the chair with her hands knotted in her lap to keep them from visibly shaking and her gaze firmly fixed on them. The very atmosphere of the room had become charged with an energy she didn't understand, making her wish she dared jump up and run away.

"I am certain that you have been made aware of what has happened?" His voice remained soft, but it had a hard, flat tone that made the hairs on the back of her head rise. Yes, Estel had been right – as had Glorfindel and Erestor: Elrond was infuriated and not bothering to hide it, and it was one of the most terrifying things she'd ever experienced.

Her voice could barely rise above a whisper. "Yes."

"What is your response to this?"

Oh, what could she give him as an answer that wouldn't make things worse for both her and Estel? "I have warned him…"

There was a soft snarl from the corner. "Much good your warnings have done."

"You warned him as well…" The silence that grew between them suddenly told her that _that_ had not been a wise thing to say. "I'm sorry…" she began.

"It seems that I have underestimated the level of folly to which the heirs of my brother's line are still capable of attempting." He rose to his feet and had never seemed to tower over her threateningly so much as he did in that moment. "As ever, mortals cannot seem to resist reaching for immortality…"

"Estel doesn't think…" Gilraen began.

"Do you honestly think that I am going to hand over my daughter – my _immortal_ daughter – to a mere mortal from a weak and dissolute line to wed her and bed her? That I am going to allow her to give away her immortality for a few years of conjugal contentment?" He began to pace with quick, angry steps, his voice tight, flat and clearly outraged. "You people reach for too much, I say!"

"But…" Gilraen thought better of reminding him that, evidently, Arwen had taken that decision away from him. What had Elrohir said? _"It is done and cannot now be undone."_

"Arrogant manling, presuming to greatness by stealing that which is not rightfully his to take!"

There was nothing to say. It was obvious that he was doing anything _but_ listening to her, and had decided to voice his anger and frustrations regardless of reason or understanding. She had weathered a few lectures from her father in much the same vein, so she merely twisted her hands in her lap.

"Here I have nursed an orcling in my bosom, raising it as my own and bestowing on it the benefits of an Elven upbringing. I should have known better, realized that the day would come when that orcling would rise up and strike a blow…" His voice caught, giving her a quick glimpse at the devastating grief he was struggling with. The moment didn't last however. "And then there is _you_. I gave to you the duties and position once held by my own wife, thinking that I could trust you…"

That stung, and Gilraen finally lifted her head to gaze at him in dismay, flinching when that eerie fire at the back of his gaze had grown wilder and hotter. "What have I done to betray your trust?"

"He is _your_ son." He paused in front of her, his glare continuing to pour down the fire of his anger on her.

The simple statement was enough to make her draw in a breath of sudden pain. "_Your son_," not "_our son_." With four words, he had repudiated a relationship that she had _thought_ he treasured as much as Estel did – one that he had assumed only with her permission, knowing how much it had hurt her at the time. What was more, he had put her into the position of a petitioner, beneath him, who had evidently disappointed him as well simply through her relationship to Estel.

"Elrond…"

"Silence! If I wish you to contribute a thought, I will request it." He resumed his pacing, the material of his robes swishing softly in an angry sound, betraying his agitation. "Both of you have taken and taken from me, from my House, from my people – time, materials, food, clothing. And I gave it willingly, thinking that by doing so I would be helping the causes of Light. And now, just see what catering to mortal leeches has brought me!"

"That is not correct, and you know it. I have ever done every task you have appointed as mine," she answered, holding her head up proudly, knowing she told the truth. "I have never turned aside from anything you asked."

"Except to keep your scheming son from betraying me by trapping my daughter into making a choice she should never have made!" he fired back at her. "You are his mother…"

"And he has been _gone_ for over twenty years!" she exclaimed, finally finding her voice. This was more than mere venting, and deserved challenge. "Estel is grown and a master of his own mind; he listens to me, to you, to Halbarad, to Dírhael, and then does what he feels is best. His decisions are his own!"

The dark brows soared, and Elrond's eyes flared dangerously. "You believe that this is 'for the best?' For _whom_, I might ask?"

"What I believe is immaterial. You seem to be ignoring the fact that Arwen could have said…"

"You know _nothing!_ I ignore _nothing!_" He wiped away her burgeoning statement with a violent wave of the hand. "Arwen is besotted! She has made the most important decision she had to make on the basis of… what? Her infatuation with a man whose very existence will cease to be in what is to us a blink of the eye?"

"But that's the point, isn't it?" As forceful and frightening as he was, she would no longer take Elrond's abuse tamely, nor allow him to abuse either Estel or Arwen for a choice that was theirs, as reasoning adults, to make. "She _has_ chosen – and nothing you can do will ever change that."

The glowing fire in his eyes grew even as his brows lowered. "It matters not. I say she will not wed your son – nor any arrogant and presumptive little mortal with nothing more to his name than a rough-hewn hut in the mountains and a spot of reputation and authority over a scattered and demoralized people. Arwen is royalty, and I have decreed that she shall wed only with royalty. If your son hopes to see her as his wife, he will have to rule over all the lands his forefathers have lost in the last Age."

"What?" Gilraen stared.

"Only the man who both wears the winged crown of Gondor and holds the white rod of Arnor is acceptable as a husband for my Undómiel." Elrond's glowing eyes narrowed. "And we know how much chance there is of _that_, do we not?"

Did he not realize that by forcing these conditions, he was jeopardizing any chance that his daughter might have to enjoy love and joy in her life, especially if she were no longer mortal, as Elrohir claimed? "Be reasonable…"

He drew himself up as tall as he could and gazed down at her with disdain. "I need be no such thing, and choose not to be. Those are my terms. Both your son and my daughter have heard them and accept them. Do you intend to dispute my right to act in my daughter's best interest?"

"Is that what you're doing now? Does visiting your anger on me help your daughter's best interest in any way?" She glared back at him. Surely he must hear reason eventually, shouldn't he?

"You are as responsible for this outrage as your son is," he stated flatly, Elven rage never more clearly expressed. "And for the first time in my life, I find myself wishing that my sons had never befriended your husband while he was here, so that I would never have had to watch my beautiful girl choose a life where she will never see her mother again, where the day will come when her life is spent. She was born to live to the end of all things!"

Gilraen stood finally, having had enough. "I am no more responsible for my son's choices as a grown man than you are for your daughter's," she spat back. "And if you cannot see that, then I pity you, Elrond Eärendilion, because your attitude has already driven your daughter from your side." She turned and started towards the door. "I've heard enough. This interview is over."

"Do you hope to convince me to change my decision by daring to leave before I give you permission?" he spat at her bitterly.

"Hope?" Gilraen spun about and faced him, no longer afraid of him but offended and hurt beyond words by his attitude and utter lack of reason. Where, o where, had the loving friend and mentor that had worked with her to help her raise her son gone? This… creature… wore his face, but the resemblance stopped there. "**Onen I Estel Edain, **Elrond. Ar le. **U-chebin estel anim.*** You know it, and I know it. One day, perhaps, you'll remember it." She turned on her heel and continued towards the door again.

"I wish my sons had never brought you or yours to my door."

Again his words made her hesitate. She was beginning to shake inside, and every statement he made now only made matters worse. "I wish the same at the moment," she shot back without turning, pulling the door open again.

"I have not yet given you permission to leave!" He sounded surprised at her audacity.

Gilraen paused in the now-open door, turning her head just enough that she could see him in the dim, eerie blue light from that crystal on the wall. "Like Arwen, I do not need your permission to live my life as I choose. However, allow me to remove a source of irritation from your presence, my lord, since I have only managed to make your ire grow in the course of our conversation."

With that, she closed the door with audible finality and made for her suite, willing herself not to let any sign of her distress be seen by any of the staring staff she met along the way. Oh! Elven hearing was very good; and no doubt word of this clash would circulate through the household staff in no time. It didn't matter, however. For the first time in a very long time, the murmurings of the Elves around her no longer were her concern.

She would wait for the Els to return, and then she would act. She knew what had to be done.

oOoOo

Elladan stared at her in shock and dismay. "You want us to do _what_?"

"You heard me," Gilraen told him stiffly. "I believe the time has come for me to return to my people. I know that you and El were intending on going back out to The Angle soon; I wondered if I could beg you and your brother to escort me home on your way?"

"What has happened?" he demanded, drawing her further away from the house and into a secluded niche near the statue of Celebrían at the very edge of the garden. "El and I leave the House for but a little time, and when we come home, we begin to hear rumors among the staff that you and my _adar_ argued two evenings ago…"

Gilraen steadied herself with difficulty and then gave him an even gaze. "Will you allow me to ride with you back to my village?"

"Will I…? Of course, you can r… If you think that either I or El would allow anyone else to…" Elladan sputtered into silence, his grey eyes frantic. "But _this_ is your home, Gilraen. Your life has been _here_, your friends are all _here_!"

"My _home_ is with my parents, where I lived with Arathorn for those few years," she told him quietly. "I have come to understand that better of late, as well as learned that the time has come that I return to where I belong before I am too old to be of any use."

Elladan gave a short, bitter laugh. "You are still young and strong, and you know it. You are but what – sixty, sixty-five? Barely an adult, by our measure."

"I'm seventy-two, and you should know how rude it is to ask a Dúnadaneth her age," she snapped back.

"What of Glorfindel?" he demanded. "Can you not wait until he returns to…"

She gazed at him in mild frustration. "Can _you_ wait until he returns before _you _leave?"

The dark head slowly shook. "You know we cannot. We promised Dírhael…"

"Then I must leave when you do, must I not?"

Elladan rubbed his chin and paced, then halted with a stern look in his eye. "We do not have the time to put together a wain for all your possessions…"

"I have need of very little," she replied. "What I will take will be little more than a bundle or two of my clothing and a very few small items – not much more than what I arrived with, to be honest. The rest…" Gilraen sighed. "Perhaps another can make use of it here, as I will have no further need of it."

"What of Estel?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"He will expect to find you _here_ when next he returns…"

"When next his duties allow him the leisure of time away from his people, you mean?" Gilraen shook her head. "No doubt you will tell Dírhael of my return long before Estel thinks to come back; and so he will hear the news from his grandfather that I am returned and know better than to look for me here." She gazed at him sadly. "The matter at hand is that it is time for _me_ to return where I belong."

"You belong _here_."

"No, Elladan," she whispered quietly, working hard not to remember everything that had brought her to this terrible decision. "I don't. Not anymore."

oOoOo

Erestor stood staring out the library window, his hands clasped behind him, as he had been since she had interrupted his work to give him her news. He had listened to her reasons without comment, supporting neither her argument nor Elrond's. Now, with nothing left to say, Gilraen waited for his response. At long last, he heaved a heavy sigh. "This is not wise, little one. When one makes such a precipitous decision in the heat of sharp emotion…"

"Wise or not, this is what must be," she replied gently. "The Els depart tomorrow, and I will go with them. But I didn't want to leave without giving you a farewell – and a thank you for all you have done for me over the years."

"Have you spoken with Elrond since…"

"No, and I don't intend to." No, she wouldn't speak to Elrond again. Something vital had irreparably torn during that painful hour she'd spent in his darkened office; she wouldn't risk him doing damage to anymore of her being. She was done being vulnerable to him. "I'm certain that he knows what I'm doing by now, or will know soon enough. Elladan said that he himself heard rumors of our encounter from the staff. No doubt Master Elrond will hear rumors of my departure from the same source."

Finally he turned to her, his grey eyes filled with sorrow. "Glorfindel will be devastated that you did not at least wait for him to return from Lothlórien."

"I can't wait for him. If I wish to travel with the Els, I must leave _now –_ tomorrow morning. Glorfindel will understand."

"But if you could just wait, I am certain that Glorfindel and I would be just as willing to provide you an escort, if you are that determined…"

"Erestor," she sighed sadly, "No. I cannot stay here. Not now, not after…"

"Have you not thought that Elrond might even now be regretting his temper and the words that he said to you in anger? Perhaps, if you gave him but a little time to get over his shock and upset, he would…"

"He may regret his words now, but he _meant_ them when he said them," she replied dully. "It took me a long time to learn to understand even a small part of the way an Elf thinks, and this much I know for certain: he told me the truth as he knew it in that moment, regardless the cost. In my time here, I've learned to prize and honor truth over convenient falsehoods, even when the truth hurts. And you yourself told me that it often took years for him to forgive those who disappointed him. No, I've made my decision, and I stand by it. My father will be thrilled that I have finally come to my senses and am ready to take up my duties as mother of the Chieftain."

"You have duties here…"

"…which were yours for centuries before I came, which you are more than capable of handling when I'm gone, and which would be yours again anyway in the end were I to live out my life here. You're not Estel's instructor anymore, so the extra load that was given as the official reason I assumed those tasks no longer exists. Just think, all the computations for the weekly and monthly reports will be done in proper Elvish from the start again now - and not on a wax tablet and then transliterated with all the opportunities for error."

Gilraen found it suddenly hard to look him in the eye, for his expression at the mention of their long-standing difference of opinion was tragic. "Is there nothing I can say or do to convince you to change your mind or at least postpone your departure?" he offered in a bleak tone.

She shook her head. "I am going to miss you," she whispered, "more than I thought I would."

At last he stepped forward and opened his arms to gather her close. "And I will miss you greatly, little one. You have been a bright light in a darkening sky for me, at the very least, whether you believe it or not. I pray the _Belain_ are gracious and merciful to you, and the stars light your path, wherever you walk, from this day forward."

"The stars guide you always, my friend, wherever you walk, on this side of the sea or th…" Gilraen had to swallow a sob. Erestor had been more than a colleague. He had been a defender, a friend, a teacher, a confidante, a co-conspirator. Through him, she had learned a great deal about what it meant to be immortal, and to be mortal in the company of immortals. She would miss their long talks while doing the household ledgers and reports, when the topics would range from history or philosophy to humor and anecdotes. She knew, in the depths of her heart, she would never see him again.

"Shhhh…" She felt him lean his cheeks against the top of her head. "This is not the end of our friendship, never fear. There will be letters, and I may even decide to travel one day with the Els. I cannot forever allow those two to think me utterly helpless afield."

"You would ever be welcome in my home, you know that." She meant it, but had a hard time picturing the austere and aristocratic Elf in the lowly setting of a Dúnadan hut. No, her heart was seeing clearly: this was an all-too-final farewell.

"And perhaps, one day, you will relent and come home to us."

_I wish._ Slowly Gilraen pushed herself away from Erestor's chest and stretched up on her toes so she could deposit a kiss on a pale cheek. "Goodbye, old friend."

The backs of his fingers traced the line of her jaw with a touch as delicate as butterfly wings. "_Navaer, híril nîn._"

She forced herself to turn away and walk slowly to the library door. She couldn't resist the temptation, however, to turn one last time. Erestor stood where she had left him, but he now pressed his hand to his heart and bowed to her. With a sad smile, she nodded in acknowledgement and then pushed through the door.

oOoOo

"Let me help you, Lady," Arthor offered, snagging the linked bundles from her arm and leading the way to where her mare, Ariel, was saddled and waiting for her. Her four-legged friend whickered softly as the bundles were fastened to the back side of the saddle, and Gilraen fished a piece of carrot from the pocket where she'd secreted the offering after begging it as a last favor from a weeping Aurin.

"Here you go, my friend," Gilraen said softly, stroking the velvety nose for a long moment. How long did she need to wait, she wondered, before Elrond had finished farewelling his sons so that she could simply ride out into the courtyard and through the gates without having to say anything to him? How long would it take, she wondered, before the household staff returned to his office the box with the circlet belonging to the Lady of the House from where she'd left it in the middle of the bed?

After all, that was her final statement to him, made in the silent language of clues and hints that the Elves preferred for such messages, a language it had taken her a very long time to learn. By returning the circlet in this manner, she was not only relinquishing her duties to him and his House, but turning her back on all the honor and prestige that went with the position, turning her back on _him_. Leaving it in the location she had, after stripping the bed of its linens as was the custom after a guest departed, made the gesture into a very personal statement; she was putting a very final end to their _gwaedh-gwend_, which had long outlasted its original intent of raising a child together. It would wound him – and it was intended to wound him at least as much as she herself had been wounded _by _him – but he would survive. He was immortal; he had no choice in the matter.

At last, she was fairly certain that the Els would have received all the instructions that their father would have for them, and the time had come. "May the stars guide you, Arthor, and keep you safe from all harm," she told her son's best friend among the Imladhrim. "Thank you for your friendship to me and my son."

"May the stars ever watch over you and protect you as well, my Lady." Arthor looked no happier at seeing the mortal Lady of the House get on the back of her mount, intending to ride away from Imladris forever, than any of the other Elves Gilraen had learned to call acquaintance or friend over the years. Like so many others who had quietly come to speak to her over the last day, he too had counseled patience and waiting until the Master's temper had cooled so that things could be set right again; and like all the others, he just didn't understand that there were some things that simply couldn't be repaired. "It has been an honor to know you, and your son."

He helped her into the saddle, and then handed her the reins. With a gentle touch of a heel to rib, Gilraen set Ariel to walking out of the stable and into the courtyard, where Elladan and Elrohir were already in the saddle, waiting for her. On the portico, Elrond stood, looking slightly confused when he caught sight of her; and then his eyes widened in shock and dismay as her intent became clear. "Gilraen, merciful Eru, no…"

It hurt to even look at him, but she relented enough to grant him one last gaze, trying to remember all that had been good and warm and fine between them for so long. Together, they had raised Estel to be a fine and upstanding Imladhrim and now a capable Chieftain of the Dúnedain. He had shown her more patience over the years than she had ever imagined possible - until the very end. In honor of those good years, those years of friendship, companionship, support and mentoring, she could at least tell him goodbye. She forced her voice to be steady. "_Navaer, _Elrond. May the stars watch over you now and always."

"Wait! You do not need to do this! Please…" With hand outstretched, he started down the steps toward her.

Deliberately, she looked away to Elladan as she sidled Ariel to put a little more distance again between herself and Elrond. "Are we ready?" she asked brusquely. If Elrond got any closer, if he touched her, if he had a chance to say much more than he already had, her delicate hold on her composure would be demolished; and she didn't want to leave Imladris in the same state of collapse as she had come to it.

Elladan's grey eyes were sad as they flicked between his stricken father and her, but as she had hoped, her determination carried through. "We are." He took the lead and turned his mount toward the gate, and Elrohir settled himself behind Gilraen.

As she had in the library, she allowed herself one, quick glance back as she reached the gate. Elrond still stood there on the steps of his House, his hands hanging limp at his side and his face a study in anguish. It tore at her to see him that way – and she almost resented the fact that she still cared about him to such an extent after all was said and done – but she refused to let that emotion now sway her to reconsider. Behind him, the home that had sheltered her for the past half-century still looked as it had the first morning she'd truly seen it: as if it had grown up in place amid the trees and streams and waterfalls. The timeless beauty that was Imladris and the grace and kindness of all who had shared that life with her would be a part of her for the rest of her days, but it was her past now.

Gilraen turned forward and was grateful that Ariel was willing to follow Elladan's lead up the narrow, winding path out of the stronghold's ravine, because her tears were blinding. Her time in the House of Elrond was at an end, and it was fitting somehow that it ended on a similar note of despair and loss as it had begun so long ago.

What had she told Elrond just before she'd walked away from his office less than two days earlier? Oh yes: "**Onen i Estel edain. **Ar le.** U-chebin estel anim.***" She had given Hope to her people – and to him – and retained none for herself. Never had that been more apparent than in that very moment.

Had it all been worth it?

She doubted she'd ever know.

*** - **Quoted directly from Appendix A: The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

_Sindarin Vocabulary_

_adar – father (fam. – Ada)_

_Belain – The Powers (Q. the Valar)_

_edhil - Elves_

_gwaedh-gwend – comfort friendship_

_híril nîn – my lady_

_meleth – beloved_

_navaer – farewell (Q. namarië)_

"_**Onen I Estel edain**__. Ar le. __**U-chebin estel anim.**__" – I gave Hope to men. And to you. I have kept no hope for myself._


	17. Please Come Home

The early autumn day had been brutally hot, and Gilraen was tired from the long hours of helping winnow what little grain had been harvested from the fields. Her arms ached; she would definitely need more time yet to get re-accustomed to the heavy labor of chopping wood and hauling water at the end of the day on top of any other seasonal tasks that was the lot of the Dúnedenith. Now that the day itself was over, her cooking fire made and supper in the pot, however, she collapsed into the one chair in the hut that she'd padded with pillows stuffed with old rags and put before the fire. It was an arrangement which reminded her of her favorite chair in her suite back home in Imladris where sometimes…

No. She wouldn't think of that. Imladris wasn't her home; it never had been. It had been a refuge when she needed it, and now it was but a dream that seemed barely real.

The steam from the little pot dangling over the fire on her hearth smelled better than the last lot of stew had, at least; it had been a long time since she'd been responsible for cooking her own meals, and it was taking time to remember just how much or little of which spice and herb to use. But there was no bread to go with it this night, and her share of the wheel of cheese was dwindling rapidly.

Still, it was food, and it was warm. She was the mother of the Chieftain, and her position came with the benefit of an adequate share of whatever provender was available. She worked as hard as she could, realizing that it would be weeks or months before she was able to do even half of what her fellow Dúnedenith could, but didn't allow a hint of complaint to pass her lips. The life she'd led for over fifty years in Imladris had become a dream of luxury and grace, one that she was working hard to put far behind her. Life among the Dúnedain was hard; it was time she remembered that.

The knock on her door was sharp, and drew her out of her dozing. "Coming," she called and pulled the knit shawl she had just finished around her shoulders as she rose. Frowning, worried that such a summons would often mean someone was ill in the settlement, she pulled the door open while saying, "What is the matt…" only to fall silent in shock to see Glorfindel in his fine armor, fully armed with bow and sword, standing in front of her.

"Míreth," he said softly. "At last."

She didn't dare reach out to him to see if he was truly there, or only a figment of a wishful imagination. Those villagers who were still abroad in the waning sunlight were no doubt paying very close attention to an Elven warrior in shining, radiant armor – one they certainly didn't know – paying her a house call. No doubt Dírhael would hear of it soon enough, the moment word could pass from one village to the next. "How did you find me?" she asked finally, once she swallowed often enough to get her voice working again.

"I sought out the Els, and when I finally found them, they gave me instructions as to which village you now called your own," was all the explanation he offered. With a raised eyebrow and a slight lift of the chin, he motioned into her hut. "May I come in?"

She continued to stare at him for a moment. "Where's Asfaloth?" she asked, suddenly aware that his great stallion was nowhere to be seen.

"I let him go at the edge of the settlement, close to the Dúnedain herd. He will not wander far." He tipped his head. "Míreth?"

Silently, Gilraen stepped back and aside so that he could move past her into the hut. She deliberately ignored the astonishment and concern on her neighbors' faces as she closed the door behind him. She then moved to stand next to the hearth, feasting her eyes on him shamelessly as she passed even as she cringed at the thought of his seeing the rude conditions in which she lived now. This hut was a long way from Imladris and the life she'd led there. "Why?" she asked softly. "Why are you here?"

He moved slowly and carefully forward until he could reach out and touch the backs of his fingers to her cheek. "Because Elrond would tell me nothing of what happened, would not even speak your name. The Els never returned and apparently have gone back to hunting orc with the Dúnedain fulltime. Erestor has gone into seclusion in the library and speaks to no one; and the staff knows only that something happened, that you suddenly picked up and left with the Els. When I arrived there, it felt almost as bad as it did in the days and weeks after Celebrían left us. And since you left no note, sent no word to me as to why…"

"I didn't know what to say, how to explain," she confessed with a sigh. "I was so…"

"Arwen told me much while we traveled together," he continued, stepping back just far enough that he could relieve himself of his sword, bow and quiver, all of which he leaned against the wall near the door. He then unfastened his cloak and draped it over her table like a fine cloth. "She said that her father was beyond furious when she told him of her choice to betroth herself to Estel, that he intended to put nearly impossible conditions on Estel's ever winning his permission for the match. She also said he intended to order him out of the House. When I spoke to Estel while searching for the Els, he confirmed that this was indeed what happened."

"Estel only told me that he knew he had lingered in Elven realms too long after his long absence, and needed to get back to the Dúnedain as soon as possible," Gilraen said, startled. "I didn't know Elrond had ordered him gone." She sighed. "But then, I warned him long ago that he would lose his foster-father's goodwill if he continued to look at Arwen with any romantic intentions. I guess I was right."

Glorfindel nodded slowly. "Arwen demanded I take her back to Lothlórien again as soon as she did because she was tremendously upset at her father's reaction. She has his temper, after all, to a small extent. But even I know that Elrond has never truly dealt with the pain of his brother's death or his wife's need to sail, that he fears the loss of loved ones above all else. No doubt that made his handling her choice all that much more difficult for him. She told me that she expected he would lash out at nearly everyone for quite a while." Deft fingers began undoing the laces of the cuirass after the tooled and embossed vambraces had landed on the outspread cloak. "I assume that he eventually lashed out at you too."

_Lashed out - that's a good way to put it, I suppose._ "Yes."

The cuirass slipped away from his torso, and it too landed on the table. "What did he tell you that drove you from your home with us after all this time?" he asked, moving more easily now that he was unencumbered.

It still hurt to think of it. "He said…" she began and then swallowed back a sob that was never far from the surface when she remembered that horrible meeting, "that he would _never_ give up his daughter to a mere mortal – not even one raised by the Elves who dared presume in arrogance to greatness. That our line – Elros' line – had grown weak and dissolute, and was once more reaching for something to which it had no right. He told me Estel was…" She gasped and tried again. "… that Estel was…"

"Hush." Glorfindel moved swiftly to gather her close into his arms. "You know those words were not true, and so does he. Estel is just as skilled and honorable as any who have come from your line in generations – more so, in many respects. Elrond himself has told me _and you _this many times over the years. Frankly, he has often spoken to me of how perhaps the line had bred true at last, giving us one with the power and strength of Elendil himself."

"Which is why he called Estel an 'orcling,' that he had 'nursed in his bosom'" she spat bitterly, shaking her head against his chest.

He sighed heavily. "That is a very hurtful statement, I will admit. Most unwise." He fell silent for a moment, and Gilraen could feel him shaking his head and snorting in what sounded like disgust. "But you must understand," he finally continued, "what he told you was said out of grief at the thought that Arwen would not be crossing the sea with him in the end; at not only eventually losing Estel to mortality – which will wound him desperately, whether you believe it or not right now – but her as well. The Els have not yet chosen their fate, so that uncertainty weighs heavily on him now too. He faces the real possibility of returning to his wife's side in the Blessed Lands only to tell her that they will never see any of their children again. I tell you again, this whole situation has evoked his greatest fear."

That made sense, but changed little. "I didn't know him, Maethor. It was as if a stranger were berating me while wearing Elrond's face." Gilraen wrapped her arms around his waist and finally, _finally_, allowed herself to feel and remember all the hurt and insult and highly-focused fury that had washed over her like a tidal wave during that single interview in Elrond's office. "He called us leeches, wished that the Els had never brought us to his door…" She couldn't go on, but gave into the sobs that seemed to well up from the bottoms of her feet, sobs that she had denied for weeks.

"Well," he said after simply holding her until she had at last spent her sobs into his silken tunic and rested limp and drained against him, "whatever it was that you told him at the very end woke him out of a mental state that would speak so hurtfully to you, a complete innocent in this, without any consideration at all. You are correct: that does not at all sound like the Elrond I have known for _ennin_. I think, perhaps, his grief drove him a little mad for a while, mad enough to forget that you too had been urging Estel to look elsewhere for a bride for at least as long as he had."

"That didn't seem to matter to him in the least," she said quietly, too drained to even give voice to the bitterness left behind when the tears were all spent. "As far as he was concerned, my fault was that Estel was _my_ son. _I _should have stopped him."

Again Glorfindel sighed heavily, and the way his arms tightened protectively around her spoke volumes about how he felt at _that_ revelation. _"_For what it is worth, however, by the time I returned, his temper had cooled and the remorse of having spoken unwisely and driven people he cared about away had set in with a vengeance. The staff told me of his wandering the House aimlessly at all hours of the day and night for days before I returned; not sleeping since your departure, I hear; eating very little and seeing to none of his normal responsibilities – and had been doing _that_ for many days even before you left, I understand. Most alarming, though: I found him once sitting in your old suite, brooding in front of your cold hearth."

"I left Celebrían's circlet for him there," she remembered, "in the middle of my bed after I stripped it that last morning."

Glorfindel's arms tightened about her yet again. "Ouch," he whispered. "We keep forgetting that you really are much more dangerous than any of us wish to believe. You learned our ways all too well in your time among us, and you turned that against him in the end."

"I needed to make my point." she declared defensively, stifling a sniffle. She appreciated his support, but it was getting hard to breathe.

"You did, trust me." His voice was softly vehement and tinged with respect. "Few could have done so well."

"Here…" She pushed against him, freeing herself from his embrace, and then cleared the table of cloak and cuirass after wiping the moisture from her cheek onto her sleeve. "Sit. You must be hungry. There isn't much, but you're welcome to it."

"I did not come to take your evening meal from you…" he complained even as he did as she requested. "I am here to bring you back home with me."

"There is enough to share this night," she replied with a shake of her head, clearly ignoring his last statement. "And tomorrow will take care of itself. I have learned to work with what is given. And I can't leave now; they need my hands for the harvest."

Glorfindel finally looked around the hut, and then focused his gaze on her. "Tomorrow I will hunt and bring meat for us all, then, and help make life easier for all concerned until you are ready to come with me, if you must insist on staying until the harvest is finished. But you are thinner, Míreth, almost alarmingly so. You are not eating well, and you look pale."

"I eat as well as anyone else here." She shrugged away the rest of his worry. There was little she could do about it except let him know that it didn't matter.

"That is not a comforting thought. However, the fact remains that you are not adapting well to your new situation. You have made your point with those who needed to hear it, however, and the time has come to return home with me. You and Elrond need to speak, now that the edge of shock and pain has worn away from the situation for the both of you, and settle this between you before you both fade. You cannot hide here and let this fester."

She should have known that he wouldn't simply take the hint and drop the subject. He had, after all, traveled far to try to make things right, in his way of seeing things. How could she make him understand? "This _is_ my home, Maethor, the only one that is truly mine. It took time to adjust to life in Imladris, and it will take time to adjust to life here again; but I belong _here_." She looked around, at the little hut in an outlying settlement that she had taken instead of the Chieftain's hut in the main settlement close to her parents. "I will not abide where my presence is resented," she whispered to herself despondently.

"Elrond does not resent you. He was the one who asked you to remain behind in Imladris when Estel returned to your people, remember? You are loved and cherished there."

"He resented me that day, deeply, and it isn't something I will ever forget."

Gilraen could feel the warmth of his frustrated gaze as she carried the little pot from the fire to the table, and then hied herself to the small cupboard from which she pulled two wooden bowls and spoons. She babbled, she knew, from nervousness. "I apologize that this isn't as fine a setting as you have in Imladris, but it gets the job done. And I fear I have no wine to offer you - no juice - only water…"

"Water will be most acceptable. Sit." Already he had the ladle in his hand and was spooning stew into both bowls. "I can bring it for you."

"You are my guest," she answered tersely. "It isn't proper for you to have to do anything."

"You worked hard this day. Do not bother denying it, for I can see the weariness in your face." A steaming bowl landed on the table in front of her. "Sit down. Where are your goblets?"

"Goblets?" She giggled, an almost hysterical sound that made her cringe yet again as she sat down. "I have no goblets. There are some stoneware mugs in the cupboard, however."

They ate silently once the water was brought to the table. Gilraen barely tasted the stew, but rather toyed with the bits of carrot and turnip. She knew that he was watching her closely and not at all pleased with her lack of appetite. Reluctantly she began taking small bites, grateful that her cooking skills had at least had a little while to refresh themselves, but still ashamed. After living for millennia with food prepared by Aurin's magic hands, he would no doubt find her stew barely palatable by comparison.

"How long before the harvest is done?" Glorfindel asked in a conversational tone the moment his bowl was empty.

Gilraen shrugged. "As soon as all the grain is cut and winnowed, and the straw bailed and stored for winter fodder, I expect. At least, that was the way things were back when."

"How many days, do you imagine?" he pressed determinedly.

Again she shrugged. "I'm honestly not certain. Ten, perhaps more?"

"Very well." He reached out and scraped the last of the stew from the pot into Gilraen's bowl. "Eat. You need this far more than I do."

"I'm not that hungry…"

"Eat it. And then you will rest. You look ready to collapse."

Gilraen frowned at him. "You are not my husband to order me about in this fashion," she reminded him darkly. "I thought we settled that a long time ago."

"Indeed we did settle that," he replied easily, his gaze not wavering under hers. "I _am_, however, still your _gwaedh-vellon_. I will not allow you to come to harm, even from your own pride." His expression softened. "Just because you have left Imladris does not mean that I wish to or even am able to turn off my feelings for you. Let me help you, please!"

She thought for a long moment, and then sagged in defeat as she lifted the spoon with a bit more substance in it. "I'll eat – and then I will wash dishes before heading to my mother's sister's son's family for the night. I cannot stay here with you in the night…"

"I will not have you lose your bed. You will sleep here, and I will return to a little glade just to the north, by the stream. The grass is soft there, and I can catch fish for your breakfast before returning for the day." Those beautiful, ice-blue eyes lingered on her face like a caress. "And _I_ will wash your pot and bowls tonight. You cooked, I shall clean."

"You are a guest…"

"I am family," he countered with a light of real determination flaring in his countenance. "For fifty years, I have been family to you; you cannot think to set that aside by virtue of a four day journey and your current mean circumstances."

Gilraen looked down into her food, knowing she'd be unable to control her emotions if she continued to look at him. Glorfindel's arrival on her doorstep had ripped the scabs from the open wound that had been her departure from Imladris. And now here he was, declaring that something that had only been possible in Imladris still held sway over him – and her – here. Did he not understand that _gwaedh-gwend_ was a concept utterly foreign to the Dúnedain, that his presence here would cause comment and speculation that she neither wanted nor needed? She had carefully avoided speaking of her years with the Elves with her new neighbors, and now she would be hard-pressed to avoid it.

"Maethor," she started quietly. "You don't understand. This can't be. _We_ can't be, not _gwaedh-gwend_, not family. Friends, perhaps, acquaintances…"

"Acquaintances?" His brows had slid together as she spoke, and now his face was downright storm-filled. "You and I are far more than mere acquaintances…"

"We _were_ that _there_, yes. But _here_…" She sighed and reached out for his hand. "You will be one of the most precious memories I carry from my time with your people. Never doubt that, please. But that time is finished, and I must make my way among the Dúnedain for the rest of my days. My people make no provisions for the kind of closeness that we have shared for so long; you know this. Erestor gave my father a taste of the dust of Imladris' sparring ring over his reaction to even just the friendship I shared with the Els; what do you think the least of those people out there would say if you and I behaved openly as _gwaedh-vellyn_?"

"The reactions of those who are unaware of the truth are not my concern," Glorfindel stated quietly and firmly.

"But they are mine," Gilraen interrupted him with a patient sigh. "I will have to live with them once you are gone."

"I am not leaving without you."

Her stew was finished at last, and slowly she rose to her feet. "I am grateful you have come, for not being able to say goodbye to you before I left was an ache that never went away. But whether we wish it or no, my time with the Elves is at an end. Nothing would be the same."

He too had risen, and now stepped towards her again. "That is not always a bad thing, is it?"

"It would be an uncomfortable and unnecessary thing." She gestured vaguely to the table, with its dishes. "Understand me: I appreciate the help you offer this night, because I truly am tired. And you will always be welcome in my home, at my table – you know this as well – whether or not the others are shocked by it or no, for as long as you choose to remain. But understand this too, my stubborn, beautiful friend: I _am_ home, and I will not go back to Imladris with you when you leave."

"I have until the Harvest is ended to change your mind," Glorfindel shook his head. "I will not rile your temper tonight by arguing. Go to bed, _meleth_. I will see you in the morning, and we will discuss this again at a more auspicious time."

oOoOo

He was as good as his word. The next morning dawned chill and bleak, but by the time she had risen and dressed herself, Glorfindel was knocking on her door with a pair of fat trout that she fried for them both for breakfast. He had changed into a simple tunic and leggings, leaving the armor and all but his bow and quiver behind, hidden in his forest camp. When he walked her to the field before leaving to hunt in the mornings, it was with her hand tucked into his elbow as if they walked the halls of the Last Homely House.

He came to be known in the village only as Maethor, Elven friend of Gilraen, and not Glorfindel, hero of Gondolin and Battle Master of Imladris. Maethor went hunting regularly and rarely failed to bring back a deer or boar that could be shared with all the settlement, making up for the fact that so many of the men were Rangers and out taking care of guarding the land. The gangly boys on the cusp of manhood, still too young to have started their formal Ranger training, quite soon got over their awe and fear of him to ask him to teach them to use their swords. Smaller children flocked to listen to him sing and tell silly stories in the late afternoons – songs and stories that Gilraen remembered hearing many times in the evening in the Hall of Fire. The adults came to accept him more slowly, but due to his consistently sharing the bounty of his hunt with them all and to his patient attention to the children of all ages, they eventually warmed to him and spoke to him in tones of near-reverence. Imagine! An Elf – and one warrior-trained at that – had come to stay with them for a time.

Glorfindel himself seemed quite contented for the most part, only displaying his continuing agenda in the evenings when he would deliberately bring back up the subject of Gilraen's return home to Imladris. And every evening ended the same way: with her telling him that she _was_ home, that she would not be returning to Imladris with him, and consigning him to the care of the _Belain_ and the stars until next she saw him as he departed for the glade and his camp.

But she knew he was keeping a sharp eye on the progress in the fields, that he was more than aware of every stage of the harvest. When the time came, he made a point to bring down a large buck to supply the meat for the feast to celebrate Harvest End, and he laughed and sang with the others during the festivities as if without a care. Gilraen knew differently; throughout the evening, his eye would land on her face and his expression would turn serious. As they wound their way home from the bonfire that night, she knew she was walking into a final confrontation – one she had to win at all costs.

"It is well you have so very little," he commented, opening the door to her hut and following her inside, "for while Asfaloth can easily carry us both, we do not want to overload him." He nodded at the small clothing press that sat against the wall at the foot of her bed. "Is everything you will want to bring with you in there?"

Gilraen shook her head at him. "I am going nowhere, Maethor. I keep telling you this, but…"

"Enough." He moved to tower over her, his gaze stern. "Winter is coming, and you are in no shape to weather it in this place. Be reasonable and start packing."

Again she shook her head. "I will survive, as will the others. Yes, winters are harsh here. I knew this when I chose to return. I cannot go with you. I am needed here."

"There is no more time for discussion; I must return to Imladris, Míreth. I can linger here no longer. By now, I hope, Elrond is at least back to taking care of the realm again, and probably wondering where I have gotten off to. I have the winter duty rosters for the inner and outer fences of Imladris to set, and other duties…"

"I do not and would not hold you here," she told him gently. "I know you have duties, important things that you must see to, I know this. I, too, have duties – here. What little healing skills I learned from Estel and Elr… well, suffice it to say that I am the only one with any knowledge at all in this village. I cannot abandon my people."

He shook his head slowly at her. "These people have survived without your help for all this time. They will survive…"

"And I will survive with them." She worked hard to put a tone of utter finality in her voice.

Evidently, it did its job, for he blinked and then gazed down at her with intense sadness. "I have done nothing to sway you in my time here? My pleas, my arguments, my reasons, all mean nothing to you then?"

"Having you here has meant the world to me, you must know this. You have no idea how much I've enjoyed having your company again," she told him, putting a hand on his forearm, "and watching you with the little ones has been a delight. You have given these people an experience and a tale that they will be telling their grandchildren, I promise you, especially when I finally tell them exactly who it really was that visited us. But no, you have not swayed me. I will not leave." Her voice shook. "I'm sorry, Maethor. It has to be this way."

"I cannot stay." His voice had dropped to a deep whisper.

"I know." How she would miss him! For the space of these few days, she had had the best of both her worlds about her again, and she had relished it with abandon. And now the memories of this time, combined with her memories of a distant place of grace and ageless beauty, would have to sustain her into an uncertain future. "When do you leave?"

"I must away at sunrise."

It was no less than she had expected. "Then this is _navaer_."

Glorfindel moved so quickly that Gilraen barely had chance to draw another breath before she was in his arms and pulled tightly against him. "I do not wish to leave you here alone. I want you to come home with me, back to where you belong. Hear me, please!" His voice was low and urgent, as desperate as she had ever heard from him. "I have watched you, and it is so clear to me that you are more Elf than Dúnadaneth now in your ways and in your thinking. Yes, these are your people, but…"

She freed a hand and used her fingers over his lips to stop his words. "They are my people, and I cannot abandon them to return to a life of luxury. I may have many Elven ways now, I know, but I am still mortal. I will learn to fit in among them again, relearn Dúnedain ways. Were you mortal, our story would end differently, Maethor _nîn_, but you are not. You belong there, helping Erestor and Elrond watch over all of Middle-earth and preparing for the darkness that _will_ come all too soon, a darkness I have no wish to witness." She tried to smile up at him, but the edges of her lips trembled as her hand caressed his smooth face in a delicate gesture she had denied herself before. "I think I have loved you for a very long time, and I will love you as I loved Arathorn past the ends of the world."

His long fingers cupped her face in return, and his blue eyes glowed ice-fire at her. "I tell you truly that were I not already married, I would have taken you as my own long ago – to Fire and Shadow with proprieties! Never did I expect to find among mortals a spirit so much like my own. I too have long loved you dearly, and you will be a light for my life even after you have stepped past the circles of this world." He pressed trembling lips to her forehead. "Since you will not heed me otherwise, I beg of you to hear me now, my stubborn love. If you need me to come to you, send word and I will be here as soon as I may. I care not the reason, or even if you have none; if you need or want me here, I will be here for you. Promise me you will summon me."

Gilraen gazed up at him in the warm and flickering light of her hearth, carving his features into her heart and mind. The flames turned his golden hair to flames as well, and his eyes glittered with ancient wisdom and deep sadness. "I promise," she whispered. "If I need you, I will send word."

Slowly, almost unbelievably, Glorfindel lowered his face until he could press his lips to hers. As had happened so long ago, only moments later he deepened it. For a timeless moment, nothing else existed in Gilraen's world but his arms about her, the taste of him, and the feel of him pressed intoxicatingly – all too temptingly – near. Two heartbeats fell into harmony and beat as one for an exquisite time. Even after all these years, her aging body happily sprang back to life at the manner in which the two of them fit so perfectly together. For a short time, they both seemed to share in the illusion that they could bridge the impossible chasm of age and custom and mortality that lay between them.

As had happened the last time, when the kiss ended, they stood long in close embrace while fires that could never be allowed to burn freely slowly died, each grieving already while yet on the very brink of loss. Not another word was spoken between them. Eventually, very reluctantly, his arms about her loosened; he brushed a tender kiss across her brow, and finally stepped away.

As the door closed behind him for the last time, Gilraen slid to the floor when her legs would no longer hold her upright. Shamelessly she wept bitter, silent tears for a life that she could no longer share. She wept for Glorfindel; and amazingly, she wept for Elrond and Erestor and the Els, for Lindir and Aurin and Maeniel, for Arthor, for Arwen and even gentle Tadiel.

When she finally forced herself to her feet to stumble to her bed, she promised herself that, from that moment on, she would never weep for any of them ever again.


	18. Epilogue

_My dearest Maethor,_

_Do you know how much I have missed you, and how the memories of our time together in Imladris have made the months and years here easier to bear? You will probably be angry at me for not summoning you sooner, but I know you have duties – important duties – and little time for nursemaiding a sick mortal. And now I am sorry I waited, for I will not live long enough to see you again, even if you did drop everything and rush here. So don't rush, Maethor. Don't come. I will not be here. I am dying._

_And don't blame the people here for anything. When I first fell ill, far too many were ill already, many of whom eventually died. There _was_ no one to send. By the time some had begun to recover, it was fairly clear that I would not be one of their number. As I lay here now, feeling my strength run from me like water down a hill, I think perhaps it is better this way. You should remember me as I was: young, alive, healthy, happy. You should not see what has become of me. _

_My mind walks the paths and corridors of Imladris constantly now, I hum the day-songs often, and those who take care of me look at me as if I were slightly crazy. It is hard for them to understand how much those songs came to mean for me, and I have tried to explain it – I really have. Every night, when I am finally alone in the dark, I sing the hymns to Elbereth, and I consign my son and you and the Els and Erestor into her care. I even sing for Elrond now, despite everything, in hopes that she will give him the strength to endure what is to come; and I suppose you may tell him so, if you wish. You will not have to tell Aragorn, Erestor or the Els anything, for I have written them myself. _

_It is important to me, now that my time is so short, that you know that I don't regret coming home to stay. I was needed here, and I have done all I could for my people and to help Aragorn any way I could. Now, in return, these people take care of me as best they can. I shall not burden them for many more days, however. The time has come for me to set down my Gift and go forth in search of Arathorn, and I don't know how much longer it will be before I do so. I am very tired, and the darkness around us grows too deep. I will be glad to go to my rest._

_But I find I wish I could see you, hear you teasing me as you used to all those years ago, or feel your fingers in my hair after stealing away my hairpins. I wish many things were different. But most of all, I wish you could hold me when I close my eyes for the last time. You have guarded my heart for all these years, keeping it safe until I could give it back to Arathorn. You have been a generous, loving friend, far better than I deserve. I can only hope that I have been half as good a friend to you._

_And so, my _gwaedh-vellon_, this is farewell. May the stars you love so well watch over you and keep you safe, and may your lady-wife truly appreciate the treasure she has in you when she welcomes you home after you sail. I shall carry my love for you beyond the circles of the world, and Arathorn will just have to understand that there is a piece of my heart that will always belong to you alone. _

_Please give my greetings and farewells to all in Imladris. _

_Goodbye, my dearest, dearest friend._

_Míreth_

Gilraen put down the quill, grateful that this was the last of the four letters to be written. The one intended for Aragorn had been finished two days earlier, and sent along with the regular posting reports from the local Rangers. Yesterday's efforts had been directed at one letter to the Els, and another intended for Erestor. Now that her concentration to say goodbye to those who meant the most to her was released, her need to cough overwhelmed her, making her pant and ache desperately when it finally eased, while tears of pain flowed freely.

Summoning what felt like the very end of her strength, she folded the paper shot through with colored threads – the last of her supply from that happy Mettarë in Imladris – and handed it to Niniel. "This letter, the two I wrote yesterday, and my book of poetry - all of them must go to one of the sons of Elrond. They will pass through here sometime before Mettarë, as they always do. Promise me you will not fail to deliver them."

"I will see to it, my Lady. Never fear." Niniel took the folded paper from her and slipped it into the pocket of her skirt. "Do you have any more writing to do?"

"No." Gilraen's hand shook as it put the quill back into the little bottle of ink her young caregiver was holding and then fell back limply. "No, that was the last of it. I am done now."

Niniel busied herself in removing the little table from over her that Gilraen used at mealtimes. "That is just as well, for you tire yourself with all this writing. Wasted energy, I say…"

Gilraen frowned as she watched the young woman stoop to stir the fire. Niniel's mother had raised her only daughter to simply be a wife and mother, never teaching the young woman the value of reading or writing. It was a mindset that she had striven to overcome in the years since her return, but one that was deeply engrained now. Her efforts were considered evidence of an Elvish taint and barely tolerated. "Niniel? Would you bring me my box, please?"

With a look of indulgence, Niniel fetched the wooden box Gilraen requested and set it on the edge of the bed, well within reach. Gilraen worked the latch and lifted the lid, then reached within and with a grunt of exertion brought out the thick bundle of documents that she kept bound in a silk ribbon. She didn't have to look at them to know what they were – or remember each and every word written in them.

The letters from Imladris that had reached her over the years had been treasures that she had read and re-read hundreds of times, keeping memories and friendships alive despite time and distance. Each and every letter detailed and touched on a life that had once touched hers: from Aurin's sharing of recipes to Erestor's dissertations on the stories that had so fascinated Glorfindel from the Lays of Beleriand, which he'd insisted she keep and discuss with him; from Tadiel's well-intentioned gossip to Maeniel's wry musings.

Included in that bundle were letters Glorfindel had written back to her in answer to hers. They exchanged news at least three times a year, and each one of his messages bore a subtle mental caress from afar despite being superficially filled with nothing more than accountings of what had happened in his life since they last communicated. He never said the words openly – and in her answers, she had not either – but both knew of the emotions behind the words as if they _had_ been spoken.

At the very bottom of the bundle were three letters from Elrond, the latest having arrived only a month before she had fallen ill. The Master of Imladris – at least in his letters – was once again the person she had known for half a century: kind, compassionate and very apologetic. In each of the three missives, he begged for another chance to speak to her in person and make plain his remorse for the ugly, hurtful things he had said to her when his mind had been unhinged with fresh grief. Each letter urged her to relent in her anger with him at least enough to return home to the safety and security of Imladris.

In the last letter, however, he had worried about her wellbeing after hearing news of illness sweeping through The Angle, and had offered to take in and protect all the Dúnedain villagers in the approaching dark, especially if she wouldn't agree to leave her people otherwise. The Rangers could know that their families and children were well-protected as they performed their duties, not to mention enjoy the benefits of the Elven craftsmen for their needs, healers for their ills, and the possibility of education for their children. There was an abandoned settlement on the far eastern end of the valley which he would gladly make available to them so that they could keep their own ways while still enjoying his protection…

Evidently, he must have recently written something similar to Aragorn, for her son had made mention of the offer in his last visit. It hadn't taken much to see in Aragorn's sour expression exactly what he thought of the idea: "They would never agree to living in the keeping of another Lord, Nana. Not now." She had agreed. The Dúnedain were far too proud and independent to seek refuge with the Elves.

Besides which, the Els had informed her that Aragorn diligently kept his distance from Imladris as much as possible now, visiting only at times of real need. She was well aware that travel between the Angle and Imladris had in recent years slowed to a mere trickle, mostly just the Els going back and forth, keeping their promise to her never to remain estranged from their father for too long again. They told her that communications between Aragorn and Elrond were rare, and Aragorn remained so respectful yet distant when he did write or visit that it was obvious that he was content with affairs as they stood. That being the case, she was certain Aragorn would not wish to be obliged to deal with his foster-father just to be able to visit with _her_.

That last visit with Aragorn had been a difficult one anyway, as much because she was still quite ill as because she knew it would be the last time she saw him. He had insisted on fussing over her, preparing various herbal teas that had helped for a short time but never really restored to her the strength to battle the fever and the cough. She had tried to warn him, to prepare him for what was to come; and he had argued carefully with her, pleading with her to stay, to be a part of his victory. Her answer to that had been the same as what she had told Elrond years before: **"Onen i Estel edain. U-chebin esten anim." **Just days before, she had received a note from him, asking how she was progressing. Her answer had been the even more final farewell letter that was now wending its way to him.

In the end, she had never responded to Elrond's letters at all, however; and the excuse she had given herself was that she had never known _how_ to respond. Even now, over twenty years later, the memory of what he'd said during his lapse in judgment still ached enough to bring on the tears. Knowing that Elrond deeply regretted his actions helped a little and made her feel guilty for not at least letting him know that she appreciated the apologies even if she still hadn't forgiven him entirely. But it just wasn't enough to convince her to make the effort to reopen a dialogue with him. It had been easier to put his letters at the bottom of her bundle, to take the coward's path and simply not respond. And now… It was too late to worry about it, except…

"Niniel." She finally got her caregiver's attention again and held out the bundle with a hand that shook with the effort. "Put these in the fire."

The shock on the young woman's face was plain. "You want to burn your letters, my lady?"

"They were private messages for my eyes, and nobody else's. When I am gone, I wish for no one else to read them," Gilraen said with tired determination. "I want to watch them burn."

It hurt to let go of them – to put their fate in someone else's hands, knowing they would be destroyed – and she watched with eyes not quite blurred with tears as Niniel did as she asked. Pushed repeatedly with a poker into the heart of the fire, the silk ribbon flared quickly and dropped away, and the loosened bundle spread across the tops of the logs. The flames licked at and darkened the edges of the papers and parchments, and then curled each sheet inwards as they devoured the words, the thoughts, the wishes, the memories, all that had been, and all that could never be again. "Stir the fire again," she directed with a pointing finger that shook. "I want nothing left of them."

It took longer than she had thought it would, but finally the letters were nothing but blackened flakes of ash shifting down over and through the still-burning logs and metal grating into the grey mess beneath it all. Gilraen blinked away tears as the last vestiges of the beautiful and dreamlike half of her life lived in the company of grace and elegance and timeless peace fell away and was lost forever.

"You need your rest, my lady. Do you want your tea?"

She started and then nodded, drawn suddenly back into the present from her musings. "Yes, that would be nice."

Patiently she waited, and then opened her lips obediently so that she could sip at the hot liquid from the heavy stoneware mug. The brew warmed her all the way from the back of her throat to her stomach, but one sip was plenty. Once more she had to bear with a lengthy coughing fit that felt as if it were tearing her ribs apart.

She waved a hand to motion Niniel and the tea away. "Enough," she wheezed when she finally had her enough of her breath back to try to speak. "I think I'll sleep now."

With eyes closed, Gilraen put up with the bustling and the plumping of the pillow that had been a gift from Arnadion, Niniel's husband, at the birth of their firstborn son a year earlier. "Sleep well, my lady. I shall see you in the morning." Gilraen waited, endured the blankets on her bed being pulled up tight and tucked in as if she were a small child, and listened for the puffs of breath that, with the sudden surge in darkness, told her that the candles had been extinguished for the evening. She soon heard the sound of the door of her hut closing securely, and sighed in relief.

At last, she was alone – and it was time.

It was so easy, far easier than she had thought it would be. Just a little concentration, a little determination, made her heart beat more and more slowly, made her feel heavier and heavier. She was _so_ tired. Behind her eyes, a dim, white glow began to form, and movement in that cloud of light caught at her faltering attention. She concentrated more, and the movement slowly gained a face. A voice, one she had not heard for far too long, spoke as if from a distance, "My star! At last!"

"Arathorn!" she breathed, and, suddenly freed from the weight of sickness and sorrow, she flew upwards toward him and knew herself surrounded by a love that had never dimmed, as well as light and joy beyond all imagining.


End file.
